J?:«M 


I  STRIVE   AND   THRIVE, 


B 

0^ 

0 

0 

0 

1 

4 
6 

°4 


A     TALE 


BY    MART    HOWITT, 


|||||S,;: 


)  B 


l' 

1 

sli 

1 

1 

mSi 


i^K 


--    ■f^^t-r'^f^f^f*' 


ma 


NEW    H  A  V  I'  N  . 

S.  BABCOCK,  CHAPEL  STREET. 

. < — 

1841. 


\^^ 


### 


& 


y- 


i 

I 


UCSB    LIBRARY 


WM(Q)l^TE^WZm 


Page  137 


STRIVE    AND   THRIVE 


A     TALE 


BY    MARY    HOWITT. 


NEW    HAVEN. 
«.   BABCOCK,  CHAPEL   STREET. 


1841. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP,  PAGE 

I.  Neighbor's  Gossip 5 

IT.  Neighbor's  Gossip  illustrated     ....  14 

III.  Married  Life 23 

IV.  Mr.  Thompson's  Visit 33 

V.  A  Great  Change 40 

VI.  The  New  Home 49 

VII.  A  Hopeless  Quest 59 

VIII.  New  Characters 65 

IX.  The  Twelfth  Hour 76 

X.  New  Prospects 84 

XI.  Little  Margaret's  Sorrow  ;    and  the  First  Hol- 
iday            ~    .        .95 

XII.  Brighter  Prospects 106 

Xin.  Secret  Schemes  .         .         .        .         .         .117 

XIV.  La  Belle  Flora 135 

XV.  Difficulties 145 

XVL  A  Friend  in  Need      .        .        ,        .        .        .158 

XVII.  New  Connexions 167 

Conclusion 177 


STRIVE  AND  THRIVE. 


CHAPTER   I. 


NEIGHBOR  S    GOSSIP. 


"That  poor  man  over  the  way  is  dead  at  last," 
said  the  younger  cf  the  two  Miss  Poindens,  as 
they  sat  at  breakfast. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  returned  the  elder. 

"  They  did  not  take  the  roll  this  morning," 
answered  Miss  Barbara ;  "  I  saw  the  baker  put 
it  back  into  his  basket ;  and  that  tall,  thin  girl 
has  not  dusted  the  window-frames ;  nor  has  that 
pale-faced  boy  fetched  the  spring  water,  as  usual  ; 
nor  have  the  blinds  been  drawn  up ;  and  the  sash 
of  the  sick  chamber  has  been  raised  a  matter  of 
three  inches.  I  am  sure  he  is  dead.  It  would 
but  be  neighborly  to  send  over  and  inquire  if  we 
could  be  of  any  service." 

"  Barbara !"  exclaimed  Miss  Poinden,  as  if 
quite  shocked  and  astonished ;  "  and  what  con- 
cern is  it  of  ours  if  the  man  be  dead  or  alive  1" 
1 


6  neighbor's  gossip. 

"  Sister,"  replied  the  more  benevolent  Barbara, 
"  they  are  poor  ;  very  poor,  I  am  sure  they  are. 
I  have  studied  the  ways  of  those  people  as  if  they 
were  my  own  kindred ;  I  know  they  are  poor  ; 
and  relations  or  friends  they  have  none,  for  there 
never  was  going  or  coming  to  that  house,  nor 
have  they  had  as  much  as  a  neighbor  to  take 
tea  with  them  ;  and  yet  how  respectable  they  all 
look  ;  those  children — and  there  are  five  of  them — 
always  so  neat,  and  with  a  something  about  them 
so  unlike  common  people's  children ;  the  boys 
with  their  clean  white  collars — but  they  always 
take  them  oflf  as  soon  as  they  get  within  doors — 
I've  seen  it  scores  of  times  !  Bless  me  !  I've  sat 
and  fretted  myself  if  it  came  on  to  rain  while  they 
were  out,  as  if  they  had  been  my  own  children, 
and  I  had  to  pay  for  their  washing.  Of  course  I 
know  nothing  of  them  further  than  I  have  seen," 
continued  Miss  Barbara,  talking  on  in  a  weak,  pat- 
tering voice,  that  might  have  reminded  an  unac- 
customed listener  of  quiet  rain  against  the  window  ; 
"  but  you  know,  when  one  has  seen  a  thing  for 
some  time,  one  can  make  a  shrewd  guess  respect- 
ing it.  Now  I  maintain  it,  that  although  these 
people  are  poor — which  is  a  common  lot  enough — 
yet  that  they  are  not  common  people.  The  house 
itself  is  a  mirack  to  me  ; — always  ao  clean  and  neat 


NEIGHBOR  S  GOSSIP.  7 

as  it  looks  ;  and  yet  there  is  no  servant,  not  even  a 
girl,  nor  a  char-woman  on  a  Saturday  ; — how  they 
manage  is  past  my  skill  to  say;  one  would  think 
fairies  did  the  work  of  the  house.     Look  only  at 
their   street-door — there    is    not    a    door   like   it : 
paint  clean,  knocker   bright,  steps  as  white  as  a 
lilly  ;  yet  never  did  I  s€e  a  hand  upon  them.     It  is 
my  opinion  that  all  this  is  done  when  every  body 
else   is   in   bed  :  and  they  would   not  have    that 
sensibility  if  they  were  your  common  people.     I 
declare  I  feel  quite  a  regard  for  them.     They  take 
in    needle-work,    poor    things,   and   that's  money 
hardly   earned.      Pve    seen    the    draper's     porter 
bring  Irish  linen  there — I'm   sure   it   was   Irish; 
and  it    is   my  opinion  that  they  work  for  ware- 
houses ;  and  the  boy  takes  home  the  work   in  a 
carpet-bag    every  Saturday    morning.      It    was  a 
long  time  before  I  could  understand  things — that 
carpet-bag  puzzled  me  much;  but  I  have  a  pretty 
good    knowledge    of    all   their   movements    now. 
They  are  respectable  people,  sister ;  very  respect- 
able   people,  though   they   are   poor.      I    think  I 
shall  just  send  Martha  over  with  my  or  our  com- 
pliments, and  ask  if  we  could  be  of  any  service — 
it  would  but  be  neighborly,  you  know." 

^'  Nonsense  !"  returned   Miss  Poinden  ;  "  I  beg 
you  will  do  no  such  thing.     Half  a  dozen  people 


8  neighbor's  gossip. 

may  be  dead  in  the  street  besides  this  man,  yet  it 
is  no  concern  of  ours." 

Poor  Miss  Barbara  always  yielded  to  her  sister, 
and  therefore  she  did  not  urge  the  point,  although, 
she  thought  within  herself,  that  it  was  very  dis- 
agreeable never  to  have  her  own  way. 

"He  must  have  been  ill  many  years,"  said 
Barbara,  after  a  silence  of  five  minutes,  during 
which  time  the  circumstances  of  the  opposite 
neighbors  had  passed  in  busy  review  before  her. 

"The  man  over  the  way?"  inquired  Miss 
Poinden,  who  had  thought  in  the  meantime  on 
twenty  different  subjects,  and  yet,  who,  accus- 
tomed to  her  sister's  unwearying  perseverance  in 
one  train  of  thought,  naturally  reverted  to  the  last 
topic  of  discourse, — "  perhaps  he  may." 

"  He  has,'^  persisted  Miss  Barbara  ;  "  why,  it 
is  three  years  last  July  since  he  came — don't  you 
remember?  Last  July  three  years  they  brought 
him  in  a  sedan-chair,  and  he  then  was  too  ill  to 
walk.  Three  years  it  is  since  they  came  ;  those 
dressy  Martins — Mrs.  Martin  and  her  three  daugh- 
ters— lived  there  before  them.  You  had  your 
lavender  silk  the  very  May  before  they  left,  and 
no  sooner  had  you  been  seen  in  it,  than  Mrs. 
Martin  got  one  like  it." 

"  Going  on    for  four  years    since  I  bought  my 


NEIGHBOR  a  GOSSIP.  9 

lavender  silk  !  It  is  impossible  !"  exclaimed  Miss 
Poinden. 

"  It  will  be  four  years  next  May,"  returned 
Barbara,  quietly,  "  since  you  bought  that  dress." 

"  If  you  can  make  that  out,  the  dress  shall  be 
yours,"  said  the  elder  sister  ;  and  Barbara,  who, 
unfortunately  for  the  indulgence  of  her  benevo- 
lent impulses,  was  dependent  upon  her  senior, 
and  who  was  the  grateful  receiver  of  her  more 
costly  cast-off  habiliments,  set  about  proving  that 
the  poor  opposite  neighbor  had  been  ill  in  that 
house  upwards  of  three  years,  inasmuch  as  he  had 
been  the  succeeding  tenant  to  the  dressy  Martins, 
in  whos«  time  the  lavender  silk  was  unquestion- 
ably bought 

"  Now  I  can  prove  it  to  you  past  a  doubt," 
said  Miss  Barbara,  settling  herself  into  a  talking 
position  in  her  chair:  "they  came  here  on  the 
first  of  July — that  was  your  birthday,  you  know. 
I  dare  say  they  took  the  house  at  Midsummer,  but 
perhaps  he  was  too  ill  to  be  moved ;  I  hope, 
however,  they  had  not  another  quarter's  rent  to 
pay;  or  perhaps  they  were  in  lodgings  by  the 
week,  then  it  would'nt  matter.  Well,  however, 
as  I  said,  they  came  on  the  first  of  July,  and  he 
was  brought  in  a  sedan  chair.  I  was  standing  at 
that  window  dusting  the  old  china  on  the  stand; 
1* 


10  NEIGHBOR  S  GOSSIP. 

for,  as  it  was  your  birthday,  we  were  going  to  hare 
company.  We  had  the  Smiths  and  the  Wilsons 
that  night  to  tea  and  supper.  Young  Wilson  was 
over  then  from  Barbadoes,  and  we  asked  the 
Smiths  to  meet  them.  Well,  as  I  said,  I  was 
dusting  the  china ;  I  had  my  Jemmy  Jessamy  in 
my  hand  when  the  sedan-chair  came  up,  and  I 
was  naturally  curious  to  know  who  it  held,  for 
the  goods  had  come  the  day  before — no  great 
quantity  of  them  either — and  that  pale-faced  boj 
walked  beside  the  sedan  ;  he  was  a  very  little 
fellow  then ;  and  Mrs.  Walsingham,  though  at 
that  time  I  did'nt  know  her  name,  came  out  to 
the  door  to  receive  them.  The  chairman  carried 
out  the  sick  man,  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  and  pres- 
ently I  saw  him  brought  into  the  chamber  where 
he  now  lies  dead.  He  must  have  been  very  ill  at 
that  time,  for  he  has  kept  his  chamber  ever  since, 
and  his  bed  also,  in  my  opinion,  for  I  never  saw 
him  more  then  once  or  twice,  and  that  at  distant 
intervals,  sitting  in  an  easy  chair  near  the  fire. 
It  was  some  incurable  malady — some  slow  con- 
sumption or  other — that  has  been  the  death  of  him; 
for  though  a  doctor  came  now  and  then,  just  at 
regular  times,  I  never  could  see  that  any  physic 
came  to  the  house.  But,  however,  all  this  is 
nothing  to  the  purpose ;    I  was  telling  you  about 


11 


their  first  coming.  I  was  very  busy  looking  at 
them,  and  put  my  hand  back  to  set  the  Jemmy 
Jessamy  on  the  stand,  that  I  might  go  nearer  to 
the  window,  for  I  did'nt  care  to  be  seen  dusting 
it  as  I  stood  there ;  but  unfortunately  I  forgot 
that  I  had  moved  the  stand,  so  instead  of  setting 
it  down  as  I  expected,  I  dropped  it  on  the  floor." 

"  Just  like  you,"  chimed  in  Miss  Poinden,  in 
rather  a  bitter  tone. 

"  Well,  well,  sister,"  continued  Miss  Barbara, 
with  a  deprecating  voice,  "  my  accidents  mostly 
fall  on  my  own  head,  as  in  this  case,  for,  as  I 
told  you  at  the  time,  it  was  my  own  piece ;  and 
seeing  I  have  no  great  possessions,  I  had  most 
cause  to  grieve  :  and  then  Mrs.  Smith — just  like 
her — asked  where  the  Jemmy  was,  the  moment 
she  entered  the  room,  for  she  catalogues  every 
thing  in  every  body's  house.  And  did'nt  you 
wear  your  lavender  silk  that  night ;  and  Mr.  Wil- 
son, the  old  gentleman,  dropped  his  muffin,  with 
the  buttered  side  downward,  on  the  side-breadth ; 
and  old  Mr.  Smith  told  you  that  magnesia  was 
the  best  thing  in  the  world  to  take  out  grease  ? 
O,  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  only  to-night !  and 
that  was  the  day  the  people  over  the  way  first 
came  ;  and  I  declare  I  never  saw  any  one  of  them 
for  a  long  time  afterwards,  without  feeling  as  if  I 
had  just  broken  something." 


18  neighbor's  gossip. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  elder  lady,  "I  did 
wear  that  dress  that  particular  night ;  it  was  new 
just  then  ;  but  that  can  not  be  three  years  ago." 

"Well,"  returned  Miss  Barbara,  "you'll  see. 
Your  next  birth  day  you  spent  at  Margate  ;  the 
next,  you  had  that  fit  of  lumbago,  when  Mr. 
Baillie  sent  in  that  large  bill ;  bless  me,  what 
money  those  doctors  must  get!  I  don't  wonder 
at  the  poor  Walsinghams  having  the  doctor  only 
now  and  then.  Last  first  of  July,  don't  you 
remember  sitting  in  the  morning  for  your  picture, 
and  our  drinking  tea  with  the  Philipses  in  the 
evening  ?  Now  there  are  three  birthdays  for 
you;  and  that  makes  three  years,  to  my  know- 
ledge, that  that  poor  man  has  kept  his  sick-bed ; 
and  next  May  your  lavender  silk  gown  will  be 
four  years  old." 

"  Bless  me,"  said  Miss  Poinden,  "how  time 
goes  on!  That  gown  looks  well  for  its  age;  it 
was  a  good  silk  to  begin  with — seven-and-six- 
pence  a-yard ;  but  it  is  time  you  had  it ;  and,  now 
I  think  of  it,  I  am  rather  tired  of  it.  It  will 
make  you  an  excellent  church-going  dress  when 
you've  turned  it." 

Poor  Miss  Barbara,  though  she  was  two-and- 
iifty  years  old,  was  so  pleased  and  so  occupied 
with  the  business  of  re-modeling  the  lavender  silk 


neighbor's  gossip.  13 

dress,  that  she  said  no  more  about  sending  Martha 
with  her  compliments  OA^er  the  way,  or  with  her 
offers  of  service  ;  but  yet,  in  the  midst  of  her 
sewing  and  shaping,  she  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing how  poor  Mrs.  Walsingham  would  contrive 
to  put  herself  and  all  those  five  children,  into 
decent  mourning. 

Miss  Barbara  Poinden  was  quite  right  in  most, 
if  not  all  of  her  surmises.  She  was  right  in  believ- 
ing that  Walsingham  was  dead — that  he  had  died 
that  night,  after  a  long  confinement  to  a  sick 
chamber.  She  was  right  in  saying  that  they  were 
poor  ;  that  there  was  no  coming  or  going  of  re- 
lations or  friends  to  their  door,  nor  neighborly 
tea  drinkings,  and  yet  that  they  had  a  respectable 
look — a  something  about  them  unlike  common 
people.  She  was  right  as  to  the  needle-work 
and  the  street-door ;  and,  as  neither  servant  nor 
char-woman  could  be  afforded  in  that  house, 
had  Miss  Barbara  been  an  early  riser,  she  might 
have  seen  that  the  fairy  who  cleaned  the  steps 
and  the  knocker,  was  no  other  than  the  thin, 
pale-faced  boy,  who  had  so  often  excited  her 
compassion. 

But,  as  Miss  Barbara's  observations  only  served 
for  a  breakfast-table  gossip,  and  were  only  the 
result    of   an   idle  though   kind-hearted  curiosity, 


14  neighbor's  gossip. 

we  who  know  all  the  detail  of  the  family  history, 
must  enlighten  our  readers  thereon ;  and,  in  order 
to  do  that  thoroughly,  we  must  go  back  nearly 
twenty  years. 


CHAPTER    II. 

neighbor's  gossip  illustrated. 

Nearly  twenty  years  ago,  Walsingham  had  just 
left  college.  He  was  a  man  of  fine  taste  and 
accomplishments;  that  is,  he  had  received  a  clas- 
sical edcuation  ;  he  read  and  discussed  modern 
literature  and  the  belles  lettres,  and  was  not  only 
a  conno  sseur  in  the  arts  of  music  and  painting, 
but  an  amateur  practitioner  of  them  also.  He 
sketched  excellently ;  he  played  on  the  flute  and 
violin  more  than  passingly  well ;  and  was,  in  fine, 
in  the  opinion  of  all  his  family,  a  most  elegant 
young  man.  Add  to  these  other  attractions,  that 
he  possessed  six  thousand  pounds  in  the  funds,  at 
his  own  disposal,  and,  better  still,  that  he  was  the 
undoubted  heir  of  a  rich  uncle,  and  it  will  be 
easily  seen  that  the  world  gave  its  golden  opinions 
not  without  reason.  To  his  uncle,  who  was  an 
old  bachelor,  he  was  the  nearest  of  kin,  and  had 


neighbor's  gossip.  15 

been  brought  up  by  him  from  his  earliest  child- 
hood. The  good  old  man,  in  fact,  had  been  to 
him  "  father  and  mother  both,"  and,  as  he  ad- 
vanced from  childhood,  had  spared  no  expense  to 
give  him  every  advantage  of  education. 

Too  much  money,  however,  had  been  spent, 
and  too  much  indulgence  allowed,  if  Mr.  Thomp- 
son (for  such  was  the  uncle's  name)  expected 
that  at  his  one-and-twentieth  year,  he  "would 
buckle  to,"  as  he  expressed  it,  and  take  the  place 
of  head  clerk  in  the  soap-boiling  establishment, 
even  with  the  whole  concern  in  reversion.  Matters 
fell  out  as  might  have  been  expected :  the  nephew 
thought  trade  vulgar,  and  his  uncle  an  unreason- 
able, if  not  a  tyrannical  old  man,  who  expected 
him  to  sit  down  to  ledgers  and  invoices  punctually 
at  ten  o'clock  daily,  Sundays  and  Saint-days  only 
excepted.  He  declared  decidedly,  that  he  should 
not  do  it ;  and  that,  if  the  prosperity  of  the  soap- 
boiling  concern  depended  upon  him,  it  might  go 
to  ruin.  The  uncle  thought  the  nephew  an  idle, 
ungrateful,  good-for-nothing  fellow,  whose  mind 
was  given  up  to  operas  and  plays,  to  picture- 
painting  and  fiddling,  and  to  idle  books,  that 
were  only  written  to  turn  weak  heads.  He  was 
cruelly  deceived ;  and  such  ingratitude,  he  said, 
would  never  bring  a  blessing. 


16  neighbor's  gossip. 

Poor   Mr.    Thompson !    he  felt   the    disappoint- 
ment   even    deeper    than   his     words    expressed. 
Walsingham  had  been    as   a  son  to  him  ;  he  had 
toiled  for  him  and  thought  for  him,  and  had  been 
destined,   even    from    his    birth,    for  his    vv^orthy 
and    superior  successor.      The     young   man    for 
the  last  several  years  had  lived  mostly  at  college  ; 
his  mind  had  been  occupied  partly  by  study,  but 
more  by  pleasure,  and  he  soon  learned  that  life  went 
on  merrily  without  his  uncle.     The  uncle,  on  the 
contrary,  never  lost  the  memory  of  his  ward  ;  every 
scheme  in  business,  every  accumulation  of  wealth, 
had  reference   to  him  ;  and   when,  during  the  last 
half  year   of  his  college  life,  the  good  soap-boiler 
enlarged  his  warehouses,  refitted  and  modernized 
his    counting-house,     and    had    his    old-fashioned, 
dingy    dwelling  in  Fore   street  trimmed  up,  as  it 
never  had  been  trimmed  up  before,  all  was  done 
with    an    eye    to    the    comfort    and    credit   of  his 
nephew.     No  wonder,   was  it,  therefore,  that  that 
nephew's   contempt  of  trade   was  a    most    severe 
blow ;  he  doubted  if  his  senses,  indeed,  conveyed 
true  intelligence ;  he   had    no   conception  of  such 
consummate  folly.      The  younger  kinsman,  how- 
ever, conceded   so   far  as  to  make   an  attempt   at 
book-keeping,  but  six  months  more   than  sufficed 
to  satisfy  both  parties ;  he  smoked   cigars,  which 


neighbor's  gossip.  17 

were  the  old  man's  abomination,  while  he  posted 
the  ledger ;  he  made  crooked  ees  instead  of  the 
good,  old-fashioned,  round-backed  ones ;  and 
although  his  handwriting  was  naturally  a  good, 
clear,  bold,  tradesman's  hand,  he  wrote  a  hurried, 
unintelligible  scrawl,  which  would  have  disgraced 
a  nobleman.  The  two,  therefore,  parted,  and 
with  less  regret  on  the  senior's  part  than  if  this 
trial  had  not  been  made. 

Walsingham  was  his  own  master.  He  made  a 
tour  on  the  continent ;  he  joined  a  grouse-shoot- 
ing party  in  Scotland ;  and  in  the  third  summer 
after  leaving  his  uncle,  having  seen  him  but  sel- 
dom, and  then  casually,  during  that  time,  he  set 
out  on  a  pedestrian  fishing  ramble  to  some  of  the 
fishing  streams  of  England.  In  the  pleasant  little 
town,  or  rather  village,  of  Ashford-in-the-Water, 
in  Derbyshire,  where  he  had  located  himself  for 
trout-fishing  in  the  delicious  little  river  Wye,  he 
became  acquainted  with  a  gentlewoman  and  her 
daughter,  of  the  name  of  Hammond.  Walsing- 
ham had  never  been  much  captivated  by  fashion- 
able beauties,  for  they  were  too  much  of  his  own 
stamp  to  excite  great  interest  in  his  heart.  But 
sweet  Margaret  Hammond — more  beautiful  than 
the  most  admired  beauty  of  a  London  season — 
with   so    much   simplicity,    with   so    much   good 


18  neighbor's  gossip. 

sense,  with  so  much  information — where  might 
there  be  one  to  compare  with  her  ?  There  was  a 
wonderful  fascination  about  her  :  with  the  utmost 
self-possession  and  maidenly  quietness  there  was 
a  naivete,  a  piquancy,  an  indiscribable  something 
in  her  manner  and  conversation,  that  won  all 
hearts;  she  was  accomplished,  too,  but  her  ac- 
complishments were  the  last  thing  thought  of. 
Margaret,  however,  was  not  rich — in  the  world's 
estimation  she  was  poor.  She  had  eight  hundred 
pounds  to  her  portion,  and  her  mother,  who  was 
a  widow,  was  dependent  on  a  small  annuity. 
Nevertheless  they  knew  no  wants,  because  their 
desires  were  bounded  by  their  means  ;  and  those 
means,  managed  with  admirable  economy,  seemed 
to  extend  as  by  a  miracle. 

Walsingham  went  no  further  that  summer  than 
Ashford-in-the-Water,  and  the  next  spring  he 
again  returned.  The  young  people  became  ex- 
tremely attached  to  each  other,  and  Mrs.  Ham- 
mond placed  no  impediment  in  the  way  of  their 
marriage.  He  was  candid  in  telling  all  that  re- 
lated to  himself ;  he  told  of  his  uncle's  early  kind- 
ness and  devotion  to  him,  and  of  his  earnest 
desire  that  he  should  enter  into  trade  ;  he  even 
told  how  t-^e  good  old  man,  who  had  a  horror  of 
bricklayers  and  carpenters,  had  admitted  them  into 


■  neighbor's  gossip.  19 

his  den  for  the  sake  of  his  comfort,  and  had  even 
pulled  down  and  biiilded  up,  and  offended  his 
own  love  of  ancient  dinginess,  to  make  the  count- 
ing-house more  attractive  to  him  ;  and  yet,  that 
all  had  failed  of  its  purpose.  Margaret  did  not 
laugh  at  this  relation,  as  he  intended  she  should, 
but  she  asked  him  why  he  had  done  so  ?  for,  that 
to  her  mind,  his  conduct  was  selfish  and  ungrate- 
ful. Perhaps  he  was  startled  by  her  plain  speak- 
ing ;  perhaps  he  was  conscious  that  there  was 
truth  in  it.  However  that  might  be,  as  he  now 
seriously  intended  to  marry,  he  thought  it  worth 
while  to  make  up  matters  with  his  uncle.  The 
old  gentleman  was  upwards  of  sixty  years  of  age, 
and,  considering  that  he  was  the  nearest  kinsman, 
and  that,  after  all,  he  owed  him  some  duty,  it  was 
worth  while  to  conciliate  him,  supposing  him 
really  affronted,  even  at  the  expense  of  sitting 
down  punctually  to  day-books  and  ledger. 

Margaret  could  not  analyze  all  her  lover's  pri- 
vate reasoning,  but  giving  him  credit  for  every 
pure  and  noble  motive,  her  own  good  heart  sin- 
cerely blessed  him. 

Mr.  Thompson,  habited  as  usual,  in  his  brown 
coat,  buff  waistcoat,  kerseymere  small-clothes, 
and  neatly-blacked  and  buckled  shoes,  was  sitting 
at  his  desk,  within  a  sort  of  large  glass  cage,  that 


20  neighbor's  gossip. 

occupied  an  angle  of  his  spacious  counting-!ionse, 
when  his  nephew,  with  a  non-chaUint  air,  presented 
himself  before  him.  The  old  geiuieman  raised  his 
head  from  the  large  ledger  on  which  he  had  been 
poring,  and,  adjusting  his  spectacles  to  the  proper 
angle  for  transacting  business  by  word  of  mouth, 
beheld  his  unexpected  nephew. 

The  monosyllable  "  so"  greeted  his  ear  the 
first  moment  his  uncle's  eyes  glanced  upon  him,  but 
in  the  next  his  hand  was  involuntarily  stretched 
forth,  and  his  own  grasped  with  the  most  cordial 
welcome.  Waisingham's  heart  was  really  touched 
by  this  undoubted  proof  of  kindness,  and  at  the  same 
moment  he  was  shocked  to  see  the  palid,  thin 
countenance  of  his  uncle :  the  old  man  had  evi- 
dently been  ill. 

Mr.  Thompson  did  not  conceal  the  pleasure  he 
had  in  again  meeting  his  nephew;  and  when,  as 
the  two  sat  prolonging  to  an  unusual  time  the  leis- 
ure the  old  gentleman  allowed  for  his  solitary  glass 
of  after-dinner  port,  Walsingham  announced  his 
wish  to  make  himself  useful  in  business,  declaring 
that  he  was  satisfied  with  gendemanly  indolence, 
and  would  now  become  the  plodding  tradesman,  the 
good  old  man  was  overjoyed  ;  he  declared  it  was 
the  happiest  day  of  his  life  ;  that  he  would  have 
the  back  bed-room  new  papered,  and  new  moreen 


NEIGHBOR  S  GOSSIP.  21 

hangings  to  the  bed,  and  that  he  should  be  lodged 
like  a  prince.  Unfortunately,  that  was  not  what 
Walsingham  intended  ;  but  as  he  feared  the  old 
bachelor's  aversion  to  marriage  might  throw  some 
impediment  in  his  way,  he  kept  his  own  counsel, 
and  merely  replied  that  he  should  prefer  choosing 
his  own  lodgings,  and  that  he  would  not  trouble  his 
uncle  to  make  any  domestic  alterations  for  him. 
Mr.  Thompson  would  have  thought  nothing  trouble 
that  secured  his  nephew  to  himself,  and  he  was 
therefore  thrown  quite  a-back  by  this  repulse.  "  So 
my  house  is  not  good  enough  for  him — my  way  of 
living  does  not  please  him,"  muttered  he  to  himself, 
as  he  put  on  his  slippers  that  evening  ;  and  next 
morning  Walsingham  found  his  uncle  considerably 
abated  in  cordiality.  There  were  many  stipula- 
tions now  to  be  made  before  he  would  agree  to  re- 
ceive him  into  his  counting-house.  In  the  first 
place,  he  must  be  punctual  ;  "  To  the  minute,  sir," 
said  the  senior,  with  emphasis.  Walsingham 
promised.  He  must  never  smoke  ar  cigar  in  the 
counting-house ;  he  must  write  a  good,  round,  legi- 
ble, tradesman'' s  hand.  He  promised  without  hes- 
itation. Further,  the  old  gentleman  approved  nei- 
ther of  play-books,  play-liouses,  operas  i.or  fidling; 
and  if  his  nephew  expected  important  advantages 
from  him,  he  too  expected  some  little  concessions. 
2* 


22  neighbor's  gossip. 

Walsingham  thought  his  uncle  ignorant  and  un- 
reasonable, but  he  was  in  no  humor  to  stand  upon 
trifles ;  and  therefore  he  again  promised.  No  in- 
dulgence, he  said,  of  his  own  pleasures  or  private 
tastes,  should  interfere  with  his  duly  to  his  uncle. 

Mr.  Thompson  gave  his  hand,  and  said  it  should 
be  a  bargain,  and  that  in  one  month  from  iliat  day 
he  should  expect  him  to  be  at  his  post. 

Walsingham  passed  what  he  thought  a  happy 
fortnight  in  London,  and  then  went  down  to  Ash- 
ford,  intending  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  lime 
with  Margaret.  He  had  left  all  bright  and  hope- 
ful but  a  short  time  before  ;  on  his  return  he 
found  that  a  fearful  change  had  occurred.  Mrs. 
Hammond  had  been  visited  by  a  paraletic  stroke, 
and  Margaret  was  overwhelmed  by  sorrow  and 
anxiety. 

Walsingham,  on  his  part,  had  nothing  but  good 
to  communicate.  He  was,  he  believed,  secure  of 
his  uncle's  affections  ;  he  had  a  prospect  of  wealth 
before  him,  and,  with  him,  for  Margaret  also, 
Mrs.  Hammond's  faculties  were  unimpaired  by  her 
severe  visitation  ;  but  as  the  physician  was  appre- 
hensive of  another  attack,  which  he  feared  might 
be  fatal,  the  one  earnest  desire  of  her  heart  was 
now  to  see  her  daughter  united  to  Walsingham, 
which    she    urged    incessantly,  and    with    almost 


MARRIED  LIFE.  23 

childish  impatience.  Walsingham  seconded  her 
M'ishes  with  an  urgency  that  would  take  no  denial. 
Margaret  alone  hesitated  ;  but  her  hesitation  was 
overruled,  and  her  marriage  took  place  but  a  few 
days  before  her  mother's  death. 


CHAPTER    III. 


MARRIED  LIFE. 


The  day  after  Mrs.  Hammond's  funeral  was  that 
on  which  Walsingham  was  bound  to  return  to  his 
uncle.  Margaret  insisted  on  his  punctually  keep- 
ing his  appointment:  but  this  she  could  only 
pursuade  him  to  by  accompanying  him  to  town. 
Walsingham,  however,  did  not  keep  his  appoint- 
ment ;  he  was  one  day  and  three  hours  after  his 
time — a  serious  delinquency  in  the  eyes  of  his 
kinsman.  A  very  different  countenance  to  that 
of  their  late  interview  now  met  him  ;  and  Walsing- 
ham ventured  not  to  make  the  excuses  of  either 
of  the  men  in  the  Gospel,  that  he  had  to  bury  the 
dead,   or   that  he  had  married  a   wife,   and  could 


24  MARRIED   LIFE. 

not  come.  He  took  the  unoccupied  seat  by  his 
uncle,  whose  only  salutation  to  him  was,  that 
there  would  be  double  duty  for  him  to-day,  see- 
ing he  had  neglected  that  of  the  day  before. 

It  seemed  an  interminable  day  to  Walsingham ; 
he  grew  out  of  humor,  bit  his  pen,  and  thought, 
that  of  all  drudgery  under  the  sun,  that  of  head- 
clerk  in  a  soap-boiler's  office,  was  the  most  irk- 
some, even  with  the  whole  business  in  reversion. 
Margaret's  first  day  in  London,  too — spent  in  a 
small  room  at  the  Bull-and-Mouth,  Aldersgate- 
street — was  melancholy  enough.  It  was  seven 
o'clock  before  her  husband  returned,  and  he  then 
proposed  their  spending  the  evening  at  the  opera  ; 
but  she  was  in  no  spirits  for  the  opera;  and,  late 
as  it  was  for  such  a  quest,  she  prayed  him  to  let 
them  seek  for  quiet  lodgings,  that,  at  least  in  his 
absence,  she  might  have  some  feeling  of  home- 
comfort.  Their  quest  was  unsuccessful ;  and,  as 
Walsingham  did  not  rise  early  enough  to  go  out 
before  he  went  to  the  counting-house,  after  four 
joyless  days  spent  at  a  hotel,  she  determined  to 
go  down  to  Ashford,  wind  up  all  their  little  affairs 
there,  and  leave  her  husband  in  the  meantime  to 
provide  a  house  for  them. 

We  need  not  go  through  the  melancholy  detail 
of  the  busy  three  weeks  which  Margaret  spent  at 


MARRIED  LIFE.  25 

her  old  but  now  desolate  home.  After  packing 
up  their  good  store  of  old  fashioned,  respectable 
plate,  linen,  and  china,  and  selecting  from  their 
well-kept  furniture  what  she  thought  would  be 
most  useful  to  them  in  their  new  housekeeping, 
the  rest  was  sold,  a  farewell  was  taken  of  her 
friends,  and  she  returned  to  London.  To  her 
surprise  she  was  introduced  by  her  husband  into 
a  small  but  elegant  villa,  in  the  pleasant  neigh- 
borhood of  Highgate,  as  her  future  home.  It 
seemed  all  like  magic;  the  rooms  so  light  and 
cheerful,  the  v'lews  so  delicious ;  the  neat  gay 
garden,  with  its  trim  lawn  and  abundant  ever- 
greens, looking  so  verdant  and  refreshing;  all  her 
wants  and  wishes  studied,  and  even  her  domestic 
comforts  thought  for.  It  was  better  than  any 
magic — it  was  the  forethought  of  an  affectionate 
heart. 

"Oh,  Edward,  how  kind,  how  considerate!" 
exclaimed  slie,  glancing  round,  with  an  emotion  at 
her  heart  that  filled  her  eyes  with  tears  ;  "  this  is, 
indeed,  like  coming  into  Paradise!" 

He  was  not  less  pleased  than  his  wife  ;  he  had 
intended  her  an  agreeable  surprise,  and  such  it  had 
proved. 

Walsingham,  as  we  have  said,  had  fine  taste  ;  he 
had  a  passion  for  the  beautiful,  and,  in  consequence. 


26  MARRIED  LIFE. 

considerable  knowledge  of  the  fine  arts.  He 
loved  music  ;  he  purchased  pictures  and  expensive 
casts;  life  lost  half  its  charm  to  his  mind,  without 
the  enjoyment  of  these  things.  Poor  Mrs.  Wal- 
singham  had  a  practical  lesson,  only  a  few  days 
after  her  arrival  at  Highgate,  how  inferior  her 
tastes  and  notions  were  to  those  of  her  hus- 
band. 

"  What  is  all  this  old  lumbering  rubbish  brought 
here  for  ?"  exclaimed  he,  as  he  saw  the  furniture 
which  Margaret  had  left  to  come  by  the  waggon, 
and  which  had  now  arrived,  brought  into  his  hall. 
"Where  does  this  broker's  rubbish  come  from?" 
again  asked  he,  as  his  wife  came  down  stairs,  eager 
to  empty  the  drawers  of  the  old  linen  and  plate 
which  she  had  so  carefully  packed  in  them. 

"  It  is  some  of  mother's  furniture,"  replied  she, 
"  which  I  thought  might  be  of  use  to  us." 

"  To  us  !"  repeated  he,  disdainfully  ;  "  I  would 
not  give  such  lumber  house-room !  Such  things 
as  these  are  inadmissible  in  a  modern  house  !" 

"  I  did  not  think  our  house  Avould  have  been  as 
elegant  as  this  ;  and,  besides,  dear  Edward,  I 
thought  of  saving  us  expense." 

"  The  deuce  you  did  !"  was  his  impatient  reply  : 
the  first  time  he  had  spoken  impatiently  to  her. 
"  You  ought   to  consult  me  about   such  things,  for 


MARRIED  LIFE.  27 

you  are  not  to  be  trusted  in  matters  of  taste.  These 
things  are  not  even  antique  !" 

Margaret  was  mortified  ;  and  she  stood  with  the 
handle  of  a  drawer  between  her  fingers,  forbearing 
to  open  it,  lest  her  husband  should  discover  some 
additional  cause  of  displeasure.  An  additional 
cause  of  displeasure,  however,  stood  before  him  in  a 
chest  of  books — the  small  library  of  Margaret's 
mother — the  old  binding  and  dingy  gilding  of  which 
made  it  unsightly  to  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  really  too  bad,  Margaret,"  said  he,  "  to  fill 
the  house  with  these  worthless  things  ;  had  you  put 
them  in  the  sale  they  might  have  brought  their 
value  ;  as  it  is,  they  are  valueless  here." 

"  Not  to  me,"  returned  his  wife:  "and  have  you 
forgotten,  Edward,  the  pleasure  we  have  had  in 
reading  these  very  books  V 

"  One  might  endure  to  read  them  at  Ashford,'' 
said  he,  "  where  ail  things  corresponded,  but  here  I 
could  not  touch  them." 

In  the  evening,  when  her  husband  returned  from 
the  counting-house,  all  the  offensive  old  furniture 
was  removed  from  sight ;  not  a  straw  nor  a  piece  of 
matting  remained  ;  nor  even  a  china  jar,  nor  an  an- 
tiquated piece  of  plate,  was  in  sight,  to  recall  the 
annoyance  of  the  morning.  All  had  been  carefully 
put  away,  and  the  old  furniture  stowed  into  an  un- 


28  MARRIED  LIFE. 

finished  chamber — not  without  an  involuntary  and 
depressing  thought  that,  perhaps,  a  time  might  come 
when  even  these  despised  articles  should  stand  them 
in  stead. 

Time  went  on — children  were  born  to  them — and, 
to  all  appearance,  this  little  villa  at  Highgate  was 
a  happy  home :  it  was  so  to  Mrs.  Walsingham, 
with  one  or  two  drawbacks.  Her  husband's  lav- 
ish expenditure,  his  unabated  dislike  to  all  the  details 
of  trade,  and  the  coldness  and  disunion  which  now 
existed  between  himself  and  his  uncle,  were  her 
saddest  causes  of  anxiety. 

Mr.  Thompson  had  found  his  nephew  a  very  in- 
different substitute  for  his  old  regular  head-clerk  ; 
his  want  of  punctuality  and  business-like  precision 
reduced  the  old  man's  patience  to  the  strength  of  a 
burnt  thread.  Frequent  dissensions  occurred  be- 
tween them  ;  still  the  one  forbore  and  forgave,  and 
the  other  promised  amendment,  and  even  attempted 
it;  but  still  they  met  upon  the  fertile  ground  of 
difference,  and  no  sympathy  nor  confidence  existed 
between  them. 

In  all  this  time  Mrs.  Walsingham  was  unknown 
to  her  husband's  uncle.  Mr.  Thompson  soon 
learned  that  his  nephew  had  taken  to  himself  a 
wife ;  but  after  his  first  ebulition  of  anger  was  over, 
the  subject  was  never  started  by  either,  although 


MARRIED  LIFE.  29 

now  and  then,  when  some  gleam  of  better  intelli- 
gence passed  over  them,  Walsmgham  would  quietly 
hint  that  a  visit  from  his  uncle  would  give  his  wife 
pleasure.  So  it  would;  for  I^.Irs.  Walsingham  had 
soon  learned,  even  from  her  husband's  complain- 
ings, to  understand  the  character  of  his  uncle  ;  and 
her  earnest  wish  had  always  been  that  they  might 
be  acquainted. 

"  Only  bring  us  acquainted,"  said  she  to  her  hus- 
band one  day,  "  and  all  will  be  well.  I  understand 
the  old  gentleman's  character  far  belter  than  you  do, 
and  I  respect  many  of  his  prejudices.  I  could 
make  you  also  understand,  and,  perhaps,  like  each 
other." 

Walsingham  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter. 

"  But,  at  all  events,  dearest  husband,"  continued 
she,  "  endeavor  to  please  him.  If  he  chooses  to 
have  his  safes  unlocked,  and  his  books  opened  pre- 
cisely at  ten,  he  is  perfectly  right  in  requiring  it; 
and  if  he  forbids  a  cigar  to  be  smoked  in  his  glass 
house,  neither  you  nor  any  other  person  ought  to 
do  it ;  and  if  he  does  think  that  a  man  who  gets 
his  own  living  has  no  right  to  make  crooked  ees, 
for  henceforth  and  for  ever,  in  his  books  at  least, 
let  every  e  be  straight.  You  would  conciliate  him 
3 


30  MARRIED  LIFE. 

at  once  by  humoring  him  in  these  harmless  little: 
fancies. 

Walsingham  persisted  that  his  wife  tallied  of 
what  she  did  not  understand. 

"This  at  least,  I  understand,"  she  replied;  "he 
behaved  as  the  most  affectionate  of  fathers  in  your 
younger  days  ;  some  obedience  and  some  gratitude, 
therefore,  you  surely  owe  him.  It  would  be  a 
small  thing  to  try^  at  least,  to  please  him — 
for  the  sake  of  your  children,  dearest  Edward,  do 
it !" 

Walsingham  was  moved,  and  promised  that  he 
would  even  try. 

"  And  though,"  continued  his  wife,  "  he  may 
have  refused  your  former  invitations,  still  invite 
him  again  ;  not  with  that  cold  measured  voice  of 
yours,  but  with  a  kind,  cordial  voice,  as  if  your 
heart  went  with  your  invitation ;  and  I  am  sure  he 
will  come.  I  think  he  would  like  me,  and  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  like  him." 

Walsingham  put,  as  he  thought,  his  heart  into 
his  words,  and  invited  the  old  gentleman,  but  he 
again  refused.  He  thought  of  the  invitation  after- 
wards, however,  again  and  again ;  and  after  it  had 
revolved  in  his  mind  for  about  six  months,  he 
thought,   all  at   once,   that  he    would    go — that  he 


MARRIED  LIFE.  31 

would  drop  in  quite  unexpectedly,  for  that  was  the 
true  way  of  seeing  people  as  they  were. 

A  (e\v  more  pages,  however,  we  must  be  allowed, 
before  we  relate  Mr.  Thompson's  very  momentous 
visit. 

"  I'll  have  that  old  tea-service  of  your  mother's 
exchanged  for  modern,"  said  Walsingham  one  eve- 
ning, after  a  little  party  had  left  them  ;  "  it  is  nei- 
ther modern  nor  antique,  and  I  can  not  bear  the 
style  of  it — 1  must  have  it  exchanged." 

"  By  no  means,"  said  his  wife,  "  for  I  have  a 
strong  attachment  to  that  old  tea-service  ;  I  re- 
member it  from  the  time  when  I  was  a  child — be- 
fore my  father  died — when  we  had  that  faithful  old 
servant  that  I  have  told  you  of." 

"  But,"  said  her  hnsband,  '•  you  can  not  tell  every- 
body of  your  early  attachments ;  you  are  quite  a 
child,  Margaret,  about  these  things." 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  said  she ;  "  but  I  must  confess 
that  I  love  to  think  of  those  times  when  mother  had 
her  tea-parties  at  six  o'clock — they  kept,  then,  such 
early  hours  in  the  country  ;  and  I  wore  a  white 
frock  and  red  shoes,  and  used  to  sit  so  demurely  at 
her  feet.  Then  that  old  tea-service  was  so  care- 
fully kept — it  was  always  considered  so  very  good 
— and,  after  father's  death,  we  only  used  it  now  and 
then,  on  great  occasions.     I  remember  we  brought 


32  MARRIED  LIFE. 

it  out  the  first  time  you  took  tea  with  us.     I  remem- 
ber it  well — perhaps  you  don't." 

Walsingham  kissed  his  wife's  cheek,  and  called 
her  a  little  fool  ;  adding  that,  spite  of  all  her  tender 
associ-ations,  the  old  tea-service  must  still  be  ex- 
changed, and  that  he  would  call  at  the  silver-smith's 
before  long,  and  see  about  it.*' 

"Wait,  at  least,"  said  Mrs.  Walsingham,  "till 
we  are  assured  of  Mr.  Thompson's  good  will  ;  and, 
whatever  we  do,  dearest  Edward,  let  us  be  pru- 
dent." 

These  were  unfortunate  words  for  her  to  have 
spoken,  and  her  husband's  temper  became  ruffled. 
He  held  an  opinion,  which  many  men  hold — and  a 
very  false,  and  often  fatal  opinion  it  is — that  women 
have  nothing  to  do  with  their  husbands'  incomes, 
further  than  managing  their  housekeeping,  and  pur- 
chasing clothes  for  themselves  and  their  children. 
Mrs.  Walsingham  had  always  received  from  her 
husband  what  her  good  management  and  prudence 
made  sufficient  for  this  expenditure,  but  the  real 
extent  of  his  resources,  or  the  state  of  his  circum- 
stances, she  never  was  permitted  to  know.  She 
saw  no  visible  want  of  money  ;  she  knew  that  her 
husband  was  lavish  in  the  indulgence  of  his  tastes, 
and  even  in  his  personal  expenses ;  but  as  he  re- 
pelled interference  from  her,  she  remained  in  pas- 


MR,  Thompson's  visit.  33 

sive  ignorance.  Poor  Walsingham  !  this  was  his 
most  fatal  erorr,  and  the  source  of  all  his  after  sor- 
rows. The  truth  was,  that  his  yearly  expenditure 
had  long  exceeded  his  income — his  funded  property 
had  been  sold,  and  much  of  the  ornamental  furniture 
of  his  house,  his  pictures,  and  various  articles  of 
viriu,  which  he  was  constantly  exchanging,  unpaid 
for.  Of  all  this  his  wife  knew  nothing;  and  he, 
with  his  unbusiness-like  habits,  detested  the  very 
idea  of  looking  into  his  affairs.  These  few  re- 
marks will  prepare  the  reader  for  the  chapter  which 
is  to  follow. 


CHAPTER    IV 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  VISIT. 


It  was  a  fine  evening,  late  in  May,  when  the  old 
gentleman  took  a  turn  up  to  Highgate.  It  was 
about  six  o'clock  when  he  set  out ;  he  dined  at  one, 
and  he  now  made  up  his  mind  for  a  comfortable 
"  dish  of  tea"  with  his  kinsfolk.  It  was  altogether 
a  most  unlucky  time.  Walsingham  was  going  that 
evening  with  a  gentleman  to  the  opera,  with  whom 
3* 


34  MR.  Thompson's  visit. 

he  was  also  first  to  dine.  He  had  retuned  from  the 
counting-house  in  time  to  dress;  and,  as  the  eve- 
ning was  as  deliciously  fine  as  an  evening  on  the 
verge  of  June  couki  well  be,  Mrs.  Walsingham,  who 
had  that  day  dined  early  with  her  children,  had 
taken  them  out  for  a  walk. 

Walsingham,  when  he  went  to  dress,  emptied  a 
quantity  of  loose  papers  out  of  the  pocket  of  the 
coat  he  intended  to  wear,  and  laid  them,  with  his 
new  primrose-colored  gloves,  his  opera-ticket,  and 
his  opera-glass,  upon  the  dining-room  table. 

While  dressing,  he  was  informed  that  an  old  gen- 
tleman wished  to  see  him. 

"  I  am  engaged  ;  I  can  not  see  any  one,"  was  his 
reply  :  "  but  stop — what  name  ?" 

"  He  gave  no  name,  sir,"  replied  the  servant. 

"  What  is  he  like  ?"  asked  Walsingham. 

"  An  old  gentleman,  sir — rather  like  a  trades- 
man." 

His  uncle  was  the  last  person  in  his  mind  ;  and 
the  word /ra^/e^man  suggested  some  unpleasant  im- 
ages to  his  mind  in  the  forms  of  sundry  duns  for 
unpaid  bills. 

"  I  can  not  see  any  one,"  said  Walsingham  impa- 
tiently. 

Mr.  Thompson  had  been  asked  to  sit  down  in  the 
dining-room ;  and  in  the  meantime  he  took  an  at- 


MR,  Thompson's  visit.  35 

tentive  survey  of  every  thing,  and  saw  much  which, 
in  the  fit  of  ill-humor  tiiat  was  rapidly  coming  over 
him,  he  disapproved.  "Very  fine!"  said  he  to 
himself;  "  I  wonder  whether  all  this  is  paid  for." 

The  maid  went  into  the  kitchen  to  pin  on  a  pink 
bow  which  had  fallen  from  her  cap,  and,  as  she 
thought  the  "  old  tradesman"  was  in  no  hurry,  she 
let  him  wait  some  time  before  she  delivered  her 
message.  Mr.  Thompson  had  ample  time  to  com- 
plete his  survey.  "  Upon  my  word  !"  said  he,  "  an 
opera-ticket  and  glass  !" 

Completely  out  of  humor  by  this  time,  and 
scarcely  thinking  what  he  was  doing,  except  that  it 
was  his  way  at  home,  he  took  up  paper  after  paper, 
and  made  himself  master  of  their  contents.  They 
were  sundry  unpaid  bills,  letters  of  duns,  and 
other  such  documents,  which  Walsingham  had  been 
careful  in  keeping  from  his  wife's  knowledge. 

"  An  extravagant  dog !"  growled  he,  no  longer 
able  to  control  his  anger,  and  reading  aloud  the 
subjects  and  totals  of  the  four  last  bills — "  Seven- 
and-thirty  pounds,  nineteen  shillings,  for  a  tailor's 
by^l !  fifteen  pounds  eighteen  for  horse-hire!  seven 
guineas  for  the  Graces — a  group  in  plaster  !  thirty- 
five  pounds  on  the  exchange  of  the  silver  tea-ser- 
vice !" — and,  scarcely  waiting  for  the  assurance  that 
Mr.  Walsingham   was  engaged,  and  could  see  no 


36  MR.  Thompson's  visit. 

one,  the  old  gentleman  flung  out  of  llie  house  more 
irritated  against  his  nephew  than  he  had  ever  been 
before. 

All  unconcious  who  had  been  the  visitor,  but  con- 
vinced that  it  was  some  "  dunning  tradesman,"  from 
the  maid's  remark,  that  "he  went  off  in  a  towering 
passion,"  he  gathered  up  his  unfortunate  papers,  the 
disarrangement  of  which  he  never  observed,  locked 
thenfi  in  his  desk,  drew  on  his  delicate  gloves,  pock- 
eted his  ticket  and  glass,  and  set  off  for  an  evening 
of  pleasure. 

Mrs.  Walsingham  enjoyed  her  walk — so  did  her 
children  ;  the  spirits  of  all  seemed  bright  and  cheer- 
ful as  the  sunny  air  they  had  been  breathing,  and, 
long  after  they  had  nestled  down  in  their  healthy 
slumbers,  their  mother's  heart  knew  no  feelings  but 
those  of  thankfulness  and  pleasure. 

Walsingham  returned  liome  in  raptures  of  delight. 
Life,  he  declared,  was  not  worth  having  without 
such  pleasures  as  he  had  that  night  enjoyed.  Cat- 
alani's  singing,  Desshayes'  dancing — tliey  were  the 
very  perfection  of  intellectual  pleasure  !  Margaret 
thought  that  she  had  enjoyed  sounder  pleasure,  per- 
haps, though  less  ostentatious,  in  sitting  by  her 
sleeping  children.  She  had  no  doubt,  she  said,  of 
such  pleasures  as  her  husband  spoke  of  being  very 
delightful,  very  intellectual;    but    still    they   were 


MR.  thomi^son's  visit.  37 

not  the  only  pleasures,  nor  the  higliest  pleasures  of 
life. 

"  You  are  so  prudent,  you  are  so  measured  in 
your  approbation,  you  are  so  very  domestic  in  your 
tastes,"  was  his  unsatisfied  reply. 

The  next  morning  Walsingham  felt  a  great  reac- 
tion of  spirits  ;  he  was  not  the  excited,  animated  be- 
ing of  the  last  night;  and  it  was  with  a  weariness 
of  mind,  and  a  thorough  disgust  of  business,  that,  an 
hour  and  a  half  after  his  time,  he  presented  himself 
before  his  uncle.  PIcre  a  reception  awaited  him  for 
which  he  was  not  at  all  prepared. 

"  So,  sir,"  began  iiis  uncle,  "  you  make  use  of  a 
silver  tea-service !" 

Walsingham  was  astonished  ;  yet  it  was  not  with- 
out a  smile  that  he  replied  he  did. 

"Sir,"  returned  his  uncle,  "Britannia-metal  or 
Sheffield  plate,  at  least  might  serve  your  turn.  I 
am  a  man,  sir,  not  worth  less  than  a  quarter  of  a 
million,  yet  I  never  had  a  silver  tea-pot  in  my  life. 
And  you  have  spent  seven  guineas  in  three  plaster 
women! — not  seemly  figures,  any  of  them  to  be  in  a 
decent  man's  house"  continued  he,  as  his  nephew, 
utterly  amazed  at  v/hat  this  could  mean,  looked  at 
him  without  a  reply. 

He  then  announced  his  last  evening's  visit,  and, 
without  permitting  a  word  of  apology  or  explanation, 


38  MR.  Thompson's  visit. 

went  on  to  state  in  what  manner  he  had  possessed 
himself  of  these  facts. 

VValsingham,  who  almost  rejoiced  at  the  moment, 
in  what  seemed  a  plea  against  his  uncle,  declared 
his  conduct  to  have  been  treacherous  and  mean  ; 
and  that  only  in  the  most  dishonorable  manner  had 
he  possessed  himself  of  these  facts.  He  would 
rather,  he  declared,  live  on  bread  and  water;  he 
would  rather  pine  in  a  jail,  than  tamely  submit  to 
conduct  so  ungenilemanly  ! 

"  As  you  please,"  was  his  uncle's  unmoved  re- 
ply. 

Walsingham  believed  that  he  stood  in  the  position 
of  an  injured  man,  and  he  was  not  cast  down. 
His  uncle  pursued  :  "  I  called  on  you  last  evening 
with  a  disposition  to  establish  a  friendly  feeling  be- 
tween us  ;  but  I  saw  enough  to  convince  me  that  we 
hold  such  different  principles,  and  take  such  differ- 
ent views  of  life,  that  the  less  intercourse  between 
us  the  better.  I  will  leave  you  uninterruptedly  to 
walk  in  the  path  you  have  chosen.  A  man  who 
will  not  pay  his  debts,  a  man  who  will  sacrifice  his 
own  self-respect  for  the  sake  of  indulging  fancies 
that  he  calls  taste,  shall  not  have  the  encouragement 
of  my  countenance.  Do  not  interrupt  me,  sir  ;  your 
services  have  never  been  of  any  value  to   me;    I 


MR.  Thompson's  visit,  39 

have  all  along  overpaid  you,  and  henceforth  I  shall 
have  my  work  done  by  those  from  whom  I  can  have 
my  money's  worth.  I  am  not  the  dishonorable  being 
you  represent  me  ;  the  full  amount  of  those  unpaid 
bills,  with  which  I  became  acquainted  last  night 
you  will  find  in  this  checque.  The  less  we  see  of 
each  other  henceforward,  the  bptier."  So  saying^ 
he  left  his  nephew  almost  stupified  by  contending 
feelings.  Was  he  injured  by  his  uncle,  or  benefitted 
by  him  ? — he  scarcely  knew  which  He  stood  for 
a  few  moments  undecided  what  to  do  next,  and  he 
might  have  remained  undecided  much  longer,  had 
not  a  clerk  pushed  past  him,  as  he  thought  rudely, 
and  for  an  instant  diverted  the  current  of  his  feel- 
ings. 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  the  checque  to  which  his 
uncle  had  pointed,  and,  without  ascertaining  its 
amount,  hastened  to  the  bank,  presented  it,  and  re- 
ceived a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds. 


40 


CHAPTER  Y. 


A  GREAT  CHANGE. 


Walsingham  put  the  money  into  his  pocket,  and 
determined  that  his  wife  should  know  nothing  of 
this  unpleasant  affair.  He  had  no  fear  but  that  in 
the  end  his  uncle  would  pass  all  over  ;  and,  since 
he  was  now  free  from  counting-house  duties,  why 
not  enjoy  a  week's  real  relaxation  ?  Why  not  take 
his  wife  and  children,  this  delicious  weather,  to 
spend  a  week  at  Richmond,  at  Windsor,  or  some- 
where ? 

The  little  scheme  of  pleasure  was  soon  arranged ; 
his  unlooked-for  week  of  leisure  made  every  home- 
inmate  glad  ;  and  he,  confident  in  his  own 
mind  that  his  uncle  would  relent,  gave  himself  up 
to  enjoyment,  with  an  entire  reaction  of  spirit  that 
was,  perhaps,  neither  unnatural  nor  strange. 
How  happily  that  week  at  Richmond  wore  away  ! 

"  1  am  not  bound  to  be  back  precisely  to  the 
week,"  said  he,  as  the  seventh  day  was  accom- 
plished, and  with  a  secret  reluctance  to  encounter 
again  any  disagreeable  reality;  "I  am  not  bound 
exactly  to  time  ;  suppose  we  stay  over  the  Sunday — 


A  GREAT  CHANGE.  41 

just  three  days    longer."     Every  one  joyfully   ac- 
ceded. 

On  the  Sunday,  as  he  and  his  wife  were  walking 
on  the  terrace,  they  were  met  by  the  gentleman  who 
went  with  him  to  the  opera  on  the  unfortunate  eve- 
ning of  his  uncle's  visit. 

"  Good  Heavens  I"  exclaimed  the  gentleman, 
"  you  here !" 

"  And  why  not  ?"  asked  Walsingham,  in  a  cheer- 
ful voice,  yet  not  without  a  sudden  chillness  of 
heart. 

"  You  have  not  heard,  then  ?"  said  the  other. 

"  Heard  what  ?"  asked  he,  alarmed. 

"Of  Mr.  Thompson's  death! — Good  Heavens, 
that  I  should  thus  distress  you!"  added  he,  seeing 
the  shock  his  words  had  produced  upon  both  his 
hearers  ;  "  but  it  will  be  all  the  better  for  you,  my 
dear  fellow,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  Walsing- 
ham's  arm,  and  meaning  to  act  the  comforter. 

The  gentleman's  information  was  only  too  cor- 
rect. Mr.  Thompson  had  died  whilst  holding  his 
pen  in  his  counting-house  the  day  before.  The 
little  party  hurried  to  London  immediately.  At  his 
house  Walsingham  found  the  announcement  of  his 
uncle's  death  ;  and  on  the  next  Thursday  he  was  in- 
vited to  attend  the  funeral,  and  hear  the  reading  of 
his  will.  He  had  not  yet  told  his  wife  under  what 
4 


42  A  GREAT  CHANGE. 

circumstances  they  had  last  parted  ;  there  would  be 
no  need  now,  he  thought,  if  things  were  as  he 
hoped,  and  as  he  almost  expected. 

Mr.  Thompson's  will  was  dated  the  day  after 
their  last  interview,  and  was  short,  clear,  and  strong 
as  words  could  make  it.  His  business  he  ordered 
to  be  disposed  of,  and  the  whole  of  his  property  was 
left  in  bequests.  Alms-houses  were  to  be  built, 
different  institutions  enriched,  and  a  large  amount 
given  to  various  charities  in  the  metropolis.  A  few 
annuities  came  last,  to  his  old  servants,  male  and 
female,  to  his  oldest  clerk,  and  to  his  nephew ;  one 
hundred  pounds  a  year  to  the  latter,  and  fifty  pounds 
for  funeral  expenses. 

This  was  a  blow  which  crushed  poor  Walsing- 
ham  to  the  earth.  In  the  agony  of  his  disappoint- 
ment he  opened  his  whole  soul  to  his  wife ;  he  told 
of  his  uncle's  strange  visit,  of  the  manner  in  which 
he  had  discovered  his  debts,  of  their  last  interview, 
and  of  the  money  which  he  had  given  him.  Mar- 
garet shed  bitter,  heart-fek  tears  at  this  unexpected 
recital ;  she  was  amazed  at  the  knowledge  of  their 
debts,  at  the  amount  of  borrowed  money,  but  above 
all,  at  the  discovery  that  her  husband's  private 
resources,  and  her  own  small  dowry,  were  alike  dissi- 
pated. It  was  an  appalling  knowledge  ;  but  it  was 
then  no  time  for  reproaches. 


A   GREAT   GHAxXOE.  43 

A  small  portion  of  Mr.  Thompson's  parting  gift 
had  been  spent  during  the  ten  happy  days  at  Rich- 
mond, but  the  remainder  she  religiously  devoted  to 
the  purpose  for  which  it  had  been  given. 

An  illness  of  some  weeks  was  the  first  result  of 
Walsingham's  disinheritance ;  and,  with  his  recov- 
ery, his  nature  seemed  to  have  undergone  a  change. 
Tlie  powers  of  his  mind  were  weakened,  and,  no 
longer  burning  with  resentment  against  his  uncle, 
he  heaped  only  reproach  and  upbraidings  upon 
himself 

The  entire  management  of  their  affairs  devolved 
upon  his  wife  at  this  critical  juncture,  and  it  was 
arduous  in  the  extreme  ;  clamorous  debtors  assailed 
her  on  every  side  ;  fearful  threats  were  held  out ; 
and  friends  from  whom  she  might  have  hoped  for 
council,  if  not  for  aid,  either  stood  coldly  aloof,  or 
presented  themselves  in  the  new  character  of  urgent 
claimants.  It  seemed  as  if  an  earthquake  had 
opened  under  her  feet,  and  nothing  but  dismay  and 
ruin  was  before  her.  It  was  not,  however,  a  time 
for  hopeless  lamentation,  but  for  decisive  action; 
and  she  quickly  made  up  her  mind  as  to  their 
proper  line  of  conduct.  As  soon,  therefore,  as  her 
husband's  health  would  bear  it,  she  proposed  her 
plans  to  him ;  but  day  after  day  the  poor  man  put 
away  the  idea  from  him.     "  When  I  am  stronger," 


44  A  GREAT  CHANGE. 

said  he,  "  I  will  talk  about  these  things  !"  But  piti- 
less creditors  would  admit  of  no  delay,  and  she 
again  introduced  the  subject. 

"  I  see  clearly,  dearest  husband,"  said  she,  "  the 
course  which  it  is  right  for  us  to  take  :  only  allow 
me  to  guide  us.  We  must  part  with  all  these  ex- 
pensive things — nay,  do  not  shrink  from  me — ad- 
mit but  once  this  idea,  and  your  mind  will  be  recon- 
ciled to  it.  We  must  remove  quite  away  from  this 
place.  We  must  begin  life  anew  ;  and,  please  God, 
we  can  pay  all  our  debts,  we  shall  yet  do  well. 
The  true  happiness  of  life  does  not  alone  consist  in 
wealth. 

Walsingham  groaned  aloud,  for  he  could  not  con- 
ceive of  happiness  without  wealth.  His  wife's 
heart  bled  for  him,  but  she  continued  to  lay  down 
her  systematic  plans  of  reform. 

"  Do  not  urge  me  to  do  any  thing  in  this  detest- 
able business,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  half  of  petulance, 
half  of  distress  ;  "  let  me  only  be  absent,  then  you 
may  do  what  you  please." 

Margaret  hesitated  to  reply,  and  her  husband  went 
on. 

"  I  have  not  the  strength  of  mind  which  you 
have ;  I  could  not  sweep  away  all  the  little  elegan- 
cies  and  embellishments  of  life  with  the  same  indif- 
ference that  you  could.     If  I   remained  with  you  I 


A  GREAT  CHANGE.  46 

should  only  be  a  hinderance ;  give  me  a  fortnight's 
time  to  prepare  my  mind  for  this  frightful  change — 
for  the  fall  from  a  gentleman's  to  a  pauper's  condi- 
tion—and I  will  return,  prepared  for  whatever  ar- 
rangements you  have  made." 

"  But,  my  love,"  urged  his  wife,  with  the  greatest 
gentleness,  "  this  morbid  shrinking  from  unpleasant 
duty  is  only  increasing  your  own  difficulty.  We 
must  all  exert  ourselves  as  we  have  never  done 
before.  We  shall  be  penniless  when  all  our  debts 
are  paid," 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it !"  exclaimed  the  poor  man, 
with  an  agony  of  distress  which  he  could  no  longer 
command ;  "  1  am  a  weak,  worthless  incumbrance 
on  society.  I  shall  bring  you  all  to  beggary — those 
dear,  dear  children!  and  you,  Margaret!"  Wal- 
singham  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  wept. 
"  You  can  not  conceive,"  at  length  he  continued, 
*•  with  your  strong,  calm  mind,  the  extreme  misery 
of  mine !  Do  not  ask  me  to  face  all  the  wretched 
detail  of  this  needful  change,  I  have  lived  here  as 
a  gentleman,  and  I  will  not  be  seen  here  as  a  bank- 
rupt." 

"  No  no,  not  as  a  bankrupt,"  said  his  wife  ;  "  as 
an   honest   man   who   will  pay   every   farthing  he 


46  A  GREAT  CHANGE. 

"  I  can  not  do  it,"  returned  he,  "  and  if  you  love 
me,  do  not  require  it  from  me.  I  will  go  but  for 
one  fortnight — I  care  not  how  sordidly  to  live, 
where  no  one  knows  me — and  in  the  meantime  do 
just  what  you  please  ;  I  will  harden  my  mind  for 
the  change,  and  we  will  sit  down  for  the  rest  of  our 
days  humbled  and  poor." 

Margaret  began  to  think  with  her  husband,  that 
she  really  was  more  capable  of  going  through  this 
disagreeable  business  than  he  was  ;  and  that,  in  his 
present  state  of  feeling,  it  was  desirable  to  spare 
him  the  annoyance  even  of  its  petty  details.  She 
perceived,  too,  advantages  in  his  absence  ;  for  the 
very  regret  with  which  he  would  have  parted  with 
a  picture,  or  some  favorite  piece  of  ornamental  fur- 
niture, would  have  weakened  her  own  resolution. 
Besides,  his  health  and  mind  had  been  so  shaken  of 
late,  that  the  change  of  air  and  scene  would  benefit 
both.  He  should  take  Willy,  the  second  child,  now 
six  years  old,  with  him — he  always  was  happy  with 
his  children — and,  vvith  the  boy  to  occupy  his 
attention,  he  could  have  no  time  for  melancholy 
thoughts. 

The  next  day  all  was  ready.  Willy  was  de- 
lighted with  the  prospect  of  another  visit  to  the 
country,  like  that  happy  time  at  Richmond,  and 
Walsinsham,     absolutely    refusing    to     enter  again 


A  GREAT  CHANGE.  47 

upon  the  subject,  gave  his  wife  free  permission  to 
do  whatever  she  thought  right ;  and,  not  even  ven- 
turing a  parting  look  at  any  of  his  possessions,  and 
begging  that  in  her  letters  she  would  not  even  hint 
of  her  progress,  unless  his  presence  were  absolutely 
requisite,  nor  that  she  would  even  hint  of  where 
she  intended  them  to  remove,  he  and  his  child  took 
the  coach  to  Dorking,  designing  to  spend  their  time 
in  that  delightful  neighborhood.  He  was  to  write 
at  the  end  of  the  first  week  to  their  present  home ; 
and,  as  their  future  one  was  to  remain  unknown,  it 
was  agreed  that  on  that  evening  se'nnight  they  were 
to  meet  punctually  at  six  o'clock  by  the  great  gate  of 
St.  Paul's,  whence  Margaret  was  to  conduct  thera 
to  their  new  habitation. 

How  Mrs.  Walsingham  alone,  and  without  coun- 
sellors, went  through  the  business  of  these  important 
two  weeks,  we  need  not  relate  at  full.  We  will 
only  say,  that  that  elegant  new  tea-service  which, 
had  given  such  displeasure  to  Mr.  Thompson,  and 
for  which  the  old,  associated  as  it  was  with  the 
pleasant  memories  of  Margaret's  childhood,  had 
been  exchanged,  was  taken  back  by  the  silversmith, 
having  a  considerable  allowance  made  for  use.  The 
Graces  too,  with  another  group,  went  back  to 
their  unpaid  former  proprietor ;  so  did  some  of  the 
pictures.      Fortunately    it   was   well    known   that 


48  A  QREAT  CHANGE. 

Walsinghara  was  a  man  of  great  taste  ;  and  the 
circumstance  of  his  uncle's  will  having  excited 
some  sympathy  towards  him,  many  of  his  pictures, 
and  various  articles  of  virtu,  sold  for  even  more 
than  he  had  given  for  them.  The  landlord,  too, 
was  not  an  unreasonable  man.  He  thought  Mrs. 
Walsingham  the  very  paragon  of  women ; — so 
young  and  handsome,  and  yet  to  understand  business 
so  well ;  to  have  her  senses  about  her  for  every 
thing ; — he  wished  all  men  had  as  much  business- 
knowledge  ; — and  yet  she  was  quite  a  lady  ;  could 
draw,  and  could  play  on  the  piano  like  an  angel,  as 
he  had  heard !  She  was,  to  be  sure,  one  in  a  thou- 
sand !  Such  was  the  summing  up  of  the  good  land- 
lord's encomium,  as  he  set  out  with  a  proposal  to  take 
the  furniture  off  her  hands,  together  with  the  house, 
which  he  in  future  would  let  furnished.  Spite, 
however,  of  his  admiration  for  her  bussiness-talents, 
he  expected  to  get  every  thing  at  a  considerable  re- 
duction, and  to  make  a  good  bargain  for  himself; 
yet  with  these  drawbacks  she  gladly  assented,  and 
thanked  God  that  this  formidable  business  had  been 
made  so  easy  to  her. 

As  the  house  had  been  furnished  in  the  most  un- 
sparing manner,  she  had  the  opportunity  of  reserv- 
ing some  of  the  least  valuable  articles  ;  while  the 
whole  of  that  stowed-away,  despised  old  furniture, 


THE  NEW  HOME.  49 

which  she  had  brought  from  her  mother's,  was  des- 
tined to  be  again  useful.  She  was  not,  however, 
forgetful  of  her  husband's  sensitiveness  on  the 
score  of  elegance  ;  and  some  few  articles  of  luxury 
and  taste  she  reserved  especially  for  him. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


THE  NEW  HOME. 


Mrs.  Walsingham,  after  all,  found  the  result  less 
appalling  than  she  expected.  When  every  demand 
was  satisfied,  and  unexpensive  lodgings  furnished — 
for  she  would  not  venture  again  upon  taking  a 
house — a  small  surplus  would  yet  remain  with 
which  to  commence  their  humble  house-keeping. 
A  mountain's  weight  seemed  at  once  removed 
from  her  mind,  and  she  could  not  resist  an  ex- 
pression of  thankful  joy  when  she  wrote  to  her  hus- 
band, even  though  it  approached  the  forbidden 
topic. 

She  then  took  four  rooms  in  the  house  of  a  re- 
spectable working  watchmaker  at  Pentonville. 
The  place  altogether  had  a  very  reputable  aspect ; 
the  window  glass  was   good,  and  bright  as   hands 


50 


THE   NEW  HOME. 


could  make  it;  the  paint  was  clean,  nor  even  the 
wall-papers  inelegant ;  there  was  a  light,  well- 
looking  staircase,  and  a  private  door.  To  her 
judgment  the  lodgings  had  much  to  recommend 
them,  and  she  hoped  her  husband  would  feel  no 
insuperable  repugnance  nor  disgust  against  them. 
What  principally  influenced  her,  however,  in  the 
choice,  was  the  cheerful,  healihful,  honest  counten- 
ances of  the  old  couple  to  wliom  they  belonged  ; 
countenances  which  bespoke  good  lives  and  good 
consciences. 

She  had  dismissed  her  three  servants  on  leaving 
Highgate,  and,  hiring  a  young  woman,  recommended 
by  the  watchmaker's  wife,  had  her  goods  and  chat- 
tels removed.  Even  she  could  not  resist  a  very 
natural  depression  of  spirits,  a  sort  of  weary  fore- 
boding of  heart,  as,  with  her  three  children,  who 
had  questioned  her  painfully  as  to  these  strange  and 
melancholy  changes,  she  lay  down  amid  the  disar- 
rangements and  discomforts  of  her  half-furnislied 
chamber.  But  with  the  morning's  light  came  better 
and  more  hopeful  feeling.  The  second  week  was 
wearing  on,  and  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  In 
many  cases  the  very  necessity  for  exertion  both  of 
body  and  mind  is  our  greatest  blessing;  it  was  so 
with  Mrs,  Walsingham. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  she  could  arrange  and  fit 
things  to  her  own  mind,  so  as  to  combine  comfort  and 


THE  NEW  HOME»  51 

convenience  with  some  little  appenrance  of  elegance. 
She  herself  had  now  many  misgivings  about  the  old 
furniture.  Her  husband  had  said  truly  that  it  was 
neither  modern  nor  antique.  True  it  was  well 
kept,  and,  in  an  old  house  in  the  country,  it  would 
have  had  a  respectable  look ;  it  would  have  done 
very  well  in  a  country  cottage,  even  ornec^  but  it 
certainly  was  less  handsome  than  she  had  thought. 
It  was  bright,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  not  French 
polish  which  had  made  it  so  ; — it  had  been  the 
daily  watchfulness  of  her  good  mother's  house- 
wifely care;  and  she  sighed  to  think,  now  that  it 
was  again  come  into  use,  she  should  neither  have 
the  time  nor  the  means  even  to  preserve  its  present 
state.  The  color  of  the  paper,  also,  in  the  sitting- 
room,  did  not  accord  with  that  of  the  only  carpet  she 
had  been  able  to  bring  with  her ;  and  that,  she 
knew,  would  annoy  her  husband  ;  again,  the  win- 
dows, bright  and  good  as  the  glass  was,  looked 
staring  and  naked,  with  only  their  white  roller- 
blinds,  to  an  eye  accustomed  to  ample,  well-hung 
curtains,  stained  glass,  and  Venetian  blinds. — 
"  Alas  !"  sighed  she,  "  what  mere  trifles  make  it 
hard  to  descend  into  a  lower  estate  !" 

It  was,  however,  of  importance  that  her  husband 
should  not  be  depressed  at  the  first  moment,  by 
any  liitle  deficiencies   which  she  could  supply,  or 


52  THE  NEW  HOME. 

defects  which  she  could  remedy.  She  therefore 
set  herself  again  assiduously  to  work.  A  drab 
drugget,  bound  with  crimson,  would  correct  the  car^ 
pet;  and  a  little  stand  in  that  corner  would  fill  an 
awkward  blank ;  bnt  the  only  stand  she  could 
spare  for  that  purpose  was  ill-conditioned  and  hope^ 
lessly  ugly.  A  crimson  cloth,  however,  would  not 
only  conceal  its  defects,  but  would  give  character 
and  cheerfulness  to  the  room.  Full,  white  muslin 
curtains,  too,  would  sufficiently  clothe  the  windows  ; 
and,  as  Walsingham  liked  those  in  their  own  draw- 
ing-room, these  she  would  make  like  them. 

Accordingly  she  set  to  work  with  all  the  zeal 
which  a  kind  heart  and  a  willing  mind  give  tS  a 
ready  hand ;  and,  after  expending  about  three 
pounds,  and  working  the  whole  day,  with  the  help 
of  Mrs.  Knivett,  the  good  woman  of  the  house,  and 
her  own  two  little  girls,  Mary  and  Grace,  tvho 
threaded  all  their  needles,  waxed  the  thread,  picked 
up  pins,  and  ran  little  errands,  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  that  the  effect  she  desired  was  produced  even 
beyond  her  hopes. 

A  recess  at  the  end  of  the  room  had  been  filled 
up  with  shelves  for  books ;  but  it  was  enclosed  with 
heavy  doors,  painted  in  bad  taste,  to  imitate  differ- 
ent woods ;  these  doors  were  a  great  annoyance  to 
her — to  her  husband  she  knew  they  would  be  de- 


THE   NEW  HOME.  $3 

testable.  "  If  I  could  only  have  them  away," 
thought  she, "  I  could  fill  the  shelves  with  the  best 
of  the  books.  Even  their  dingy  gilding  would  look 
better  than  those  frightful  doors,  or  the  empty 
shelves." 

The  doors  were  removed,  and  the  shelves  filled 
with  the  best-conditioned  and  brightest-looking  of 
the  books,  carefully  rubbed  up,  and  arranged  to  the 
best  advantage. 

"  What  a  blessing  it  is  to  have  all  these  excellent 
books,"  thought  she  to  herself.  "  When  these  dear 
children  grow  a  little  older,  what  delight  we  shall 
have  in  reading  them  together  !  and  even  poor  Ed- 
ward too,  how  he  would  enjoy  them,  could  he  once 
get  over  the  dingy  paper  and  the  old  fashioned 
types !" 

"  It  will  do,"  exclaimed  Margaret,  when,  after 
having  finished  all  her  little  arrangements  and  im- 
provements, she  went  out  of  the  room,  endeavoring 
to  make  herself  a  stranger  to  it,  and  came  in  again 
to  have  a  general,  and,  as  it  were,  a  first  view  of  the 
tvhole  ;  "  it  will  do  excellently — even  Edward  will 
see  nothing  to  displease  him." 

It  was  in  the  same  spirit,  with  the  same  attention 
to  her  husband's  tastes  and  prejudices,  that  all  her 
little  arrangements  were  made. 

"  Well,  you  are  the  very  cleverest  lady  that  ever  1 
5 


54  THE  NEW  HOME. 

knew  I"  said  good  Mrs.  Knivett,  when,  at  three 
o'clock  on  Saturday  afternoon,  the  day  which  com- 
pleted the  fortninght,  Mrs.  VValsingham,  who  had 
finished  all  her  operations,  invited  her  to  take  a  gen- 
eral survey. 

"  I  think  it  all  looks  very  nice,  Mrs.  Knivett," 
she  said. 

"  Oh,  it  is  like  a  palace,  madam.  And  see  all 
the  forecast  you  have  had  to  hide  all  the  flaws ! 
why,  if  I  did  not  know  where  the  broken  places  in 
the  walls  were,  I  should  never  find  them  out.  And 
all  this  furniture,  how  finely  it  has  been  kept!  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me,  at  any  time  to 
lend  a  helping  hand.  I  love  bright  furniture  ;  but 
none  of  your  French  polish  for  me.  Nothing  like 
elbow-grease,  madam,  for  furniture  !" 

Mrs.  Walsingham  wished  it  possible  that  her 
husband  could  be  of  Mrs.  Knivett's  opinion. 

She  was  punctual  to  the  moment,  at  the  great 
gale  of  St  PauFs,  but  her  husband  was  not  there. 
She  was  not  very  much  surprised,  because  she 
knew  it  so  difficult  for  him  to  keep  an  appointment. 
She  walked  backward  and  forward  in  sight  of  the 
gate,  till  two  quarters  had  tolled,  and  she  grew  un- 
easy and  dispirited.  Was  he  ill  ?  Had  he  fallen 
into  some  strange  distress,  and  knew  not  now 
whence  to  summon  her  ?     And  the  child,  the  poor 


THE   NEW  HOME.  55 

child,  what  would  become  of  him  ?  The  idea  al- 
most made  her  dizzy,  "  Oh,  this  separation  has 
been  a  wild  scheme,"  thought  she.  "  Perhaps  it 
will  cost — perhaps  it  has  already  cost  him,  or  both 
of  them  their  lives!"  Her  steps  grew  as  hurried 
and  bewildered  as  her  thoughts  ;  and,  when,  at  ten 
minutes  before  seven,  her  husband  stood  before  her, 
and  little  Willy  caught  hold  of  her  dress,  she  felt 
ready  to  faint.  "  Thank  God,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that 
you  are  come  !  but,  oh !  you  should  not  have  kept 
me  waiting  thus  !" 

Walsingham  was  astonished  to  find  himself  af- 
ter his  time ;  he  meant  to  have  been  punctual ; 
and  Willy  declared  that  papa  had  set  his  watch  just 
as  they  left  Dorking,  and  that  they  had  only  stop- 
ped to  look  in  at  the  pretty  shop-windows  since  they 
got  off  the  coach  at  Charing  Cross. 

How  impossible  it  was  for  Walsingham  to  be 
punctual !  Margaret  thought  that  she  would  not 
have  subjected  him  to  the  anxiety  of  mind  which 
she  had  endured,  but  she  did  not  say  so  ;  and  she 
was  distressed  to  see  that  he  looked  pale  and  out  of 
spirits.  He  was  so  ;  and  this  coming  back  to  what 
he  considered  degradation,  was  terrible  ;  and  could 
he  have  delayed  it  by  weeks  or  months,  or  even 
years  of  absence,  he  would  have  done  it.  Willy  ran 
talking  on  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  child,  and 


56  THE  NEW  HOME. 

mingled  up  Leith  Hill,  Box  Hill,  and  yellow  butter- 
flies, with  his  delight  in  the  attractions  of  the  shop- 
windows  which  they  passed. 

"  And  whither  are  we  bound  ?"  at  length  asked 
Walsingham,  as,  after  walking  through  St.  Martin- 
le-Grande  and  Aldersgate,  they  entered  Goswell 
Street — the  first  allusion  he  had  made  to  the  subject 
which  pressed  so  heavily  upon  his  heart ;  "  whither 
are  we  bound  ?  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  do  not 
admire  the  direction  ;  surely  we  are  not  to  live  in 
Islington  !" 

"  No,  love,"  replied  his  wife,  "  but  our  new  abode 
is  in  Pentonville!" 

"  Lord  bless  me  !"  exclaimed  poor  Walsingham, 
with  a  wretchedness  of  tone  that  went  to  his  wife's 
heart. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,  dear  Edward,"  continued  she, 
cheerfully,  and  wishing  to  prepare  him  for  the  worst 
— "  and  we  lodge  at  a  watchmaker's." 

Walsingham  literally  made  a  pause,  and  dropped 
his  wife's  arm  from  his.  "  Well,  Margaret,"  said 
he,  bitterly,  "  you  have  brought  us  low  indeed  ;  but 
thank  Heaven,  we  can  not  fall  much  lower." 

She  made  ho  reply,  for  she  was  not  sure  of 
either  of  these  facts — either  that  it  was  she  who 
had  brought  them  low,  or  that  they  would  fall  no 
lower. 


THE  NEW  HOME.  57 

Not  another  word  was  spoken,  except  on  indiffer- 
ent subjects ;  and,  before  long,  they  entered  the 
watchmaker's  door, 

Walsingham  looked  upon  himself  as  a  hopelessly 
degraded  man,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  to  take 
whatever  came  without  observation.  According  to 
his  apprehension,  it  would  be  tlie  truest  philosophy. 
It  therefore  was  with  great  disappointment,  if  not 
with  mortification,  that  his  wife  found  all  the  little 
schemes  and  forethought  for  his  indulgence  and 
gratification,  either  unperceived  or  unappreciated. 
He  did  not  seem  to  notice  his  easy  chair  set  invit- 
ingly for  him,  nor  his  slippers  and  evening  coat, 
which  were  laid  ready  ;  nor,  fallen  though  he  thought 
himself  to  be,  that  still  the  clean  damask  napkin  was 
carefully  folded,  the  silver  fork  still  laid  for  him,  and 
the  hot  savory  steak  served  with  as  much  propriety 
as  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity.  Or  if  he  did  no- 
tice these  things,  it  was  but  with  the  morbid  sense 
that  this  exact  observance,  which  was  intended  to 
spare  his  feelings,  only  harrowed  them  the 
more. 

The  next  morning  his  wife,  unable  longer  to  en- 
dure this  cold  indifference,  and  knowing  that 
there  existed  a  strong  necessity  for  him  manfully  to 
face  his  misfortunes,  and  rouse  himself  into  exer- 
tion, gave  him  the  history  of  the  last  fortnight,  without 
5* 


59  THE  NEW  HOME. 

disguising  the  fatigue  she  had  gone  through,  or  the 
annoyance  she  had  endured.  He  was  almost  per- 
plexed with  the  very  idea.  "  You  are  an  angel,"  he 
said,  when  she  had  finished  !  "  and  you  really  have 
done  miracles ;  but  oh,  Margaret,  to  think  of  com- 
ing here ! — to  take  lodgings  at  a  watchmaker's ! 
When  you  spoke  so  cheerfully  in  your  letter  of 
the  future,  I  expected  something  better  than 
this." 

The  tears  started  to  her  eyes.  "  How  differ- 
ently," she  said,  "you  and  I  estimate  things.  I 
thank  the  Almighty  that  we  have  such  a  home  as 
this  i"  and  then  she  added,  looking  round  with  a 
cheerful  countenance,  "  I  do  not  ask  you  to  admire 
any  thing,  but  tell  me,  is  it  not  comfortable  ?  See, 
here  is  your  own  chair ;  and  there  is  your  favorite 
pair  of  nymphs — and  are  they  not  on  pretty  brack- 
ets ?  and  here  is  your  mother's  picture — hanging  in 
a  very  good  light  too  : — you  are  not  without  your 
old  friends ! 

Walsingham  heaved  a  sigh  which  was  very 
much  akin  to  a  groan,  "  Those  few  meagre  relics," 
at  length  he  said,  "  annoy  me  infinitely  more  than 
no  vestige  whatever.  They  keep  the  past  in  the 
mind  :  when  I  see  them  I  know  that  I  am  fallen  !'^ 

"  No,  Edward,"  she  said,  "  you  take  a  false  view 
of  your  circumstances ;  you  are  not  fallen,  so  long 
as  you  deserve  your  own  self-respect — so  long  as 


A  HOPELESS  QUEST.  59 

you  have  acted  honestly  and  uprightly  towards  your 
fellow-men !  Thank  God,  you  owe  no  man  a  shil- 
ling ;  these  few  possessions  are  honestly  your  own ; 
and  please  Heaven  to  prolong  us  our  health,  what 
should  hinder  us  raising  ourselves  and  our  children 
above  indigence  ?" 

"  Lord  bless  me !"  said  he  impatiently,  "  how  is 
it  to  be  done  ?  The  very  power  of  my  mind  is 
gone ;  in  the  midst  of  poverty  I  shall  always  be 
poor.  These  very  lodgings  will  sink  my  spirit; 
the  sound  of  that  old  woman's  voice,  and  the  very 
knowledge  of  the  string  of  watches  stretching 
across  the  window  below,  will  distress  me  for 
ever," 


CHAPTER    VII. 

A  HOPELESS  QUEST. 

Time  wore  on,  and  Walsingham,  as  he  said,  re- 
mained poor.  He  solicited  the  assistance  of  many 
former  friends — of  men,  at  least,  who,  in  his  pros- 
perity, had  professed  themselves  his  friends — and 
many  were  liberal  of  promises.  He  was  flattered 
with  hopes  of  situations  in  the  Customs,  in  the 
India  House,  in  various  Insurance  Offices,  and 
even  in  the  Herald's  Office  itself ;  but  the  hope  was 


60  A   HOPELESS  QUEST. 

all  that  he  obtained ;  and  at  length,  the  very  men 
who  had  raised  the  false  hopes,  tired  of  his  solicita- 
tions, began  to  treat  him  coldly,  and  then  stood 
altogether  aloof.  He  had  filled,  in  the  meantime, 
several  situations ;  but  some  he  had  thrown  up  in 
disgust,  and  others  he  lost  from  his  very  incapacity 
for  business.  All  this  continual  change,  this  per- 
petual disappointment  and  unsuccess,  made  him 
tloubtful  and  disirustful  of  himself;  he  lost,  in  a 
great  measure,  his  former  confident  and  unembar- 
rassed air,  which  had  insured  influence  and  success 
in  his  better  days.  His  dress,  also,  insensibly 
acquired  that  harsh,  napless  look  which  belongs  to 
the  needy  man.  The  very  consciousness  of  this 
stealing-on  air  of  shabbiness,  depressed  him  even 
more  painfully  than  the  coldness  and  rebuffs  of  his 
friends. 

One  day,  at  the  commencement  of  winter,  about 
four  years  after  their  coming  to  the  watchmaker's, 
Walsingham  dressed  himself  in  his  very  best  man- 
ner. He  was  thin,  and  care-worn,  with  hollow 
cheeks  and  hollow  eyes ;  and  his  dark  hair  was 
thickly  sprinkled  with  gray.  It  was  not  often,  of 
late,  that  he  had  taken  extraordinary  pains  with 
his  person  ;  but  he  was  bent  this  day  upon  doing 
the  very  best  for  himself.  His  linen  was  whole, 
and  spotlessly  clean ;  his  hat  and  coat  were  studi- 


A  HOPELESS  QUEST.  61 

ously  brushed  ;  his  best  black  stock  put  on  with 
great   precision ;    his    trowsers    carefully    strapped 
down    to  his    well-blacked   but   twelve-raonths-old 
boots ;  and  his  dark  kid  gloves,  repeatedly,  but  in- 
visibly mended,  and  fitting  as  well  as    old   gloves 
might,    were   heedfuUy   drawn   on,    and   his    shirt- 
wristbands  made  visible  just  half  an  inch  beyond 
the  cuff  of  his  coat.     It  would  have  been   evident 
to  any  one  that  he  had   some  important   business  in 
view.     He  had.     He  was  going  to  present  himself 
before  a  bank  director,  whose  advertisement  in  the 
Times  he  had  answered,  and  whose  reply  had  now 
invited  him  to  an  interview.     Poor  fellow !  twenty 
others  besides  himself  had  received  a  similar  reply  ; 
and   the  one-and-twenty  hoping  and  fearing  candi- 
dates met  in  the  same  apartment,  each  in  a   short 
time  after  the  other,     Walsingham   glanced  round 
in  dismay.     Each   one  was    eyeing  the  rest  with 
inquisitive  and  envious   glances,  as  if  each  thought 
the  others  interlopers  who    would   come  between 
himself    and  the   desired  good.     Scarcely  a  word 
was  said,  but   each  tried  to  look  perfectly  at  ease  ; 
some  whistling,  some  humming  a  tune,  some  walk- 
ing quickly  about,   and  others   looking  through  the 
windows.     There  was   a   rush   whenever  the  door 
opened,  for  admittance,  each  eager  to  get  precedence ; 
for    on    that    precedence    success   might   depend. 


62  A  HOPELESS  QUEST. 

Some  kind  of  regulation,  however,  was  acted  upon 
in  the  admission,  and  Walsingham's  turn  came 
among  the  latest.  But  he  felt  no  immediate  reason 
to  be  dissatisfied  with  the  interview  granted  him  ; 
he  was  left  in  uncertainty,  it  is  true  ;  but  his  name, 
age,  and  residence,  were  noted  down  in  a  book, 
and  he  desired  to  call  at  ten  the  day  after  the 
morrow. 

Walsingham,  as  we  have  said,  was  kept  waiting 
a  long  time.  He  stood  four  hours  in  a  large  cold 
room  ;  the  streets  were  wet  through  which  he  had 
walked,  and  his  boots  were  not  the  best  in  the 
world  :  add  to  this,  a  drizzling  rain  had  come  on 
in  his  walk;  and  lie  had  not  been  long  in  waiting 
before  he  felt  a  chilly,  comfortless  sensation  come 
over  him.  But  the  hope,  however  vague,  which 
had  been  excited  in  his  breast,  dismissed  any  anx- 
ious thought  about  himself,  and  he  went  home  to 
cheer  them  with  the  hope  that  he  might  perhaps 
get  a  situ4tion  of  two  hundred  pounds  a  year. 

The  next  morning  he  felt  very  unwell ;  but  he 
had  forgotten  the  large  cold  room,  and  the  misty 
rain,  and  only  wondered  what  could  be  amiss  with 
him  ;  and  when  hb:-  wife  urged  him  to  take  some- 
thing warm  and  go  to  bed,  he  laughed  away  her 
anxieties,  quite  unwilling  to  yield  to  any  indisposi- 
tion which  might  confine  him  for  a  moment. 


A  HOPELESS   QUEST.  63 

The  next  day  he  dressed  himself  with  the  same 
scrupulous  care,  and  punctually  presented  himself. 
Poor  VValsingham !  that  once  he  was  tive  minutes 
before  his  time!  After  a  delay  of  two  hours  he 
was  admitted,  and  was  told  by  the  gentleman  he 
had  formerly  seen,  but  there  were  others  beside  him- 
self to  be  consulted  ;  that  he  had  failed  to  see  them, 
and  that  it  must  still  stand  over. 

Walsinghara  inquired  when  he  should  call  again. 

"  Oh,"  replied  the  other,  carelessly,  "  in  two  or 
three  days  :  or,  stay,  we  have  your  address  ;  if  we 
decide  in  your  favor,  you  shall  hear  from  us." 

His  hopes  sunk ;  but  he  requested  that  he  might 
hear  soon,  as  he  was  naturally  very  anxious.  The 
gentleman  looked  at  him  as  if  he  thought  his  re- 
quest very  impertinent,  and  replied,  "  that  if  their 
decision  were  favorable,  of  couse  he  would  hear; 
but  his  opinion  was,  that  it  would  not  be  so." 

Walsingham  would  have  asked  if  any  thing  had 
prepossessed  the  gentleman  unfavorably  towards 
him — for  at  that  moment  he  was  very  humble — but 
the  other  motioned  to  the  door.  Walsingham  went 
out,  and,  regardless  of  who  might  see  him,  or  what 
might  be  thought  of  him,  absolutely  wept  as  he 
walked  homeward. 

This  was  the  last  time  he  walked  in  the  streets  of 
London.     The  severe  cold  which  he  had  taken,  and 


64  A  HOPELESS  QUEST. 

which  he  had  concealed  from  his  wife,  settled  upon 
his  lungs ;  and  an  illness  followed  which  confined 
him  to  his  bed  through  the  winter.     He  had  scarcely 
recovered  in  the  spring,  when  a  paralytic  stroke  took 
the   use  of  his    left   side,  and   reduced  him  in  a 
great  measure  to  helplessness.     In  process  of  time, 
however,  he  recovered  his  health  sufficiently  to  be 
able  to  write ;  and,  for  upwards  of  twelve  months, 
he  was  employed  in  copying   folios  for   lawyers. 
He    became    very   expert    in    this   business,    and 
might   have  practiced    it    much   longer,    had    not 
the    close  confinement    again    brought    an   illness 
which    in   the    end   became    confirmed    consump- 
tion. 

Houses  had  been  built,  right  and  left,  round  the 
watchmaker's  at  Pentonville,  and  the  situation  be- 
came every  day  less  desirable.  The  watchmaker 
himself  died,  and,  as  his  wife  intended  to  reside 
with  her  married  daughter  in  the  country,  the  little 
establishment  was  broken  up. 

Mrs.   Walsingham  then  took  the  little  house  in 

Street,  opposite  Miss  Poinden's,  and  the  removal 

took  place,  af  which  Miss  Barbara  Poinden  spoke 
in  our  opening  chapter. 


65 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

NEW  CHARACTERS. 

But  it  is  time  we  introduce  the  children  of  the 
Walsinghams  more  fully  to  our  readers ;  and  these 
children,  at  the  time  the  family  left  the  watch- 
maker's, were,  as  Miss  Barbara  correctly  stated, 
five  in  number.  At  the  time  they  left  Highgate, 
they  consisted  but  of  four.  A  little  scene  or 
two  shall  make  our  young  readers  acquainted  with 
them. 

"  Willy,"  said  Mary,  the  eldest  girl,  taking  her 
brother  by  the  hand,  the  first  evening  of  his  arrival 
at  the  watchmaker's,  "  you  must  come  with  me  and 
be  quite  still.  We  don't  live  at  Highgate  now,  you 
see,  but  we  have  such  pretty  little  rooms  here ;  and 
I've  been  mamma's  maid,  for  Kitty's  gone,  and  so 
is  cook,  and  Betsy,  and  we  have  only  Rebecca : 
Rebecca  is  the  new  maid ;  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
like  her.  And  this  is  Grace's  and  my  room ;  and 
little  Jack  is  to  sleep  in  the  crib  beside  us ;  and  I 
am  to  dress  Jack,  and  help  Grace  to  dress  herself — 
only  mamma  washes  Jack  all  over  at  night." 
6 


66  NEW  CHARACTERS. 

"  I  don't  like  tliis  room  at  all,"  interrnpted  Willy. 
"It  is  not  half  as  pretty  as  that  at  Highgate;  nor 
half  as  pretty  as  ours  at  Dorking.  Oh,  it  was  so 
pleasant  at  Dorking!  I  wish  you  and  Grace  could 
go.  And  Box  Hill  is  so  high,  and  so  is  Leilh  Hill : 
and  there  are  butterflies,  and  box -trees  as  big  as 
houses !" 

"  Butterflies  as  big  as  houses,  Willy  ?"  asked 
Grace,  who  had  come  softly  into  tlie  chamber. 

''  No,"  replied  Willy,  indignantly,  "  box-trees  as 
big  as  houses;  and  such  butterflies  f'  And  Willy 
then  unburdened  his  mind  of  some  of  the  pent-up 
delights  of  the  Dorking  sajoun7 ;  and  the  second 
mention  of  the  pretty  chamber  then  recalled  the  one 
in  which  they  stood. 

"  Now,  Grace,"  asked  he,  "  do  you  call  this  a 
pretty  room  ?" 

"No,  I  am  sure  I  do  not,"  replied  Grace;  "the 
window  is  not  straight,  and  there  is  nothing  but 
backs  of  houses  to  be  seen  from  it ;  and  I  don't  like 
the  paper ;  and  there  are  no  pictures  ;  and  the 
chimney-piece  is  only  wood.  I  don't  like  it  at 
all." 

"But  Grace,"  interrupted  Mary,  "you  must  not 
say  so — you  must  like  it.  Mamtna  told  me  some- 
thing that  convinced  me  that  we  must  be  con- 
tented ;    and  we  must  not  And  fault ;  and  we  must 


NEW  CHARACTERS.  67 

do  every  thing  for  ourselves — much  more  than  we 
did  at  Highgate ;  and  we  must  help  one  another, 
and  love  one  another,"  said  she,  putting  her 
arms  affectionately  round  the  neciv  of  each.  "  Oh, 
mamma  told  me  something  that  made  me  cry 
so !" 

"  I  know  what  it  was,"  said  Grace ;  "  I  heard 
cook  say  tliat  we  were  not  as  rich  as  we  had  been. 
Oh!  Willy,"  continued  she,  in  an  earnest  and  sor- 
rowful voice,  "  all  the  pictures  are  gone,  and  the 
casts,  and  the  marble-table,  and  the  or-molu  lamps, 
and  the  piano  ;  I  am  so  very  sorry  !" 

Willy  was  confounded  by  this  strange  intelli- 
gence. "  And  so  we  are  to  live  here  then,"  re- 
marked he,  after  a  pause  of  a  few  moments ; 
"  then  I  know  now  what  made  poor  papa  so  sorry 
when  we  were  at  Dorking;  he  was  not  half  as 
merry  as  he  was  at  Richmond,  and  yet  Box  Hill, 
and  Leith  Hill,  and  Denbies,  and  Deepdenc,  and 
Norbury  Park,  are  a  great  deal  prettier  than  all 
Richmond." 

"  Yes,  Willy,"  said  Mary,  who  felt  herself  to  be  full 
of  experience,  "  mamma  says  we  are  never  to  com- 
plain of  any  thing  before  papa,  nor  to  say  that  it  is 
not  as  nice  as  Highgate ;  for,  though  it  may  be  true, 
it  would  do  no  good,  and  only  distress  poor  papa. 


68  NEW  CHARACTERS. 

Now,  you  must  remember,  both  of  you ;  and  I  am 
sure  we  shall  be  very  happy  here,  for  there  are  very 
pretty  walks." 

"  Yes,  that  there  are,"  said  Grace,  "  for  I  went 
out  with  Rebecca  and  Jack,  and  it  is  pleasant, 
though  it  is  not  like  Highgate." 

'*  And  then,"  chimed  in  Mary,  "  Mrs.  Knivett  is 
such  a  nice  old  lady." 

"  Mrs.  Knivett  ?"  asked  Willy. 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  "  Mrs.  Knivett  lives  at  this 
house,  only  you  don't  know  her ;  and  she  is  very 
good-natured  ;  and  she  looks  very  like  an  old  pic- 
ture on  a  Sunday,  for  she  wears  such  a  funny  lit- 
tle bonnet,  and  a  black  silk  cloak,  and  such  a  hand- 
some, old-fashioned  gown.  She  is  very  good- 
natured  ;  do  you  know  she  gave  Jack  some  bread 
and  honey,  and  Grace  some  such  nice  apple- 
marmalade.  And  then  old  Mr.  Knivett — he  makes 
watches  down  in  the  parlor — sits  singing  all 
day  long ;  and  he  works  with  such  pretty  little 
tools." 

"  I  think,  Willy,"  said  Mary,  "  you  would  like  to 
be  a  watchmaker — and  then  you  would  get  some 
money — mamma's  watch  was  worth  fifteen  guin- 
eas." 

"  Oh,  Willy,  do  you  know,"  whispered  Grace, 
"  mamma  has  parted  with  her  watch  ;  it  was  packed 


NEW  CHARACTERS.  69 

lip  with  her  gold  chain,  and  all  those  pretty  rings 
and  brooches ;  and  the  necklace  and  the  cross, 
Willy,  are  all  gone." 

*'  Don't  say  a  word  about  it,"  said  Mary ;  "  mam- 
ma cried  very  much  when  she  packed  up  the  box  ; 
and  when  I  told  her  she  had  promised  me  the  neck- 
lace when  I  grew  a  woman,  it  only  made  her  cry 
more — so  don't  say  a  word  about  it." 

^' And,  Willy,"  said  Grace,  "never  ask  mamma 
what  lime  it  is  by  her  watch.  I  will  teach  you  the 
clock,  for,  do  you  know,  Mr.  Knivett  taught  me 
since  I  came  here." 

"And  where  am  I  to  sleep?"  asked  Willy, 
after  the  three  had  remained  in  silence  some 
time* 

"  You  sleep  in  papa  and  mamma's  room,  in  the 
nursery  French  bed  ;  and,  you  must  know,"  said 
Mary,  "  that  Grace  and  I  hemmed  the  ends  of  your 
curtains  our  own  selves*' 

The  children  said  truly,  that  they  must  learn  to 
do  every  thing  for  themselves,  for,  a  fifth  child  being 
born  in  the  first  twelvemonth  of  their  residence  at 
Pentonville,  neither  Mrs.  Walsingham  nor  Rebecca 
had  time  to  spare  for  waiting  on  them.  But  this 
was  no  disadvantage  to  them  ;  they  gained  self-de- 
pendence, and  the  constant  interchange  of  little 
6* 


70  NEW  CHARACTERS. 

good  offices  only  increased  their  affection  for  each 
other. 

The  great  cause  of  anxiety  to  their  mother  was 
the  little  chance  there  seemed  of  giving  them  edu- 
cation— that  part  of  education,  at  least,  which  is 
gained  at  school.  But  what  will  not  affection  and 
necessity  achieve  ?  Their  mother  undertook  their 
education  herself  Her  own  school  books  were 
looked  up — lessons  learned  and  repeated — copies 
set  and  sums  done — and  even  history  and  travels 
read  and  explained,  to  the  infinite  amazement 
of  good  Mrs.  Knivett,  who  seemed  to  take  a  livelier 
interest  in  the  domestic  arrangements  of  the 
family  than  Walsingham  himself,  who,  dispirited 
and  self-absorbed,  had  but  little  interest  in  any- 
thing. 

After  his  paralytic  attack,  when  he  was  wholly 
confined  to  their  room,  and  the  returns  even  of  his 
former  precarious  labor  were  so  seriously  diminished, 
his  wife  found  it  necessary  to  add  to  the  family 
resources.  What  was  there  for  her  to  do  but 
needlework — that  most  unproductive  of  all  employ- 
ment ?  Nothing.  And  needlework,  accordingly, 
she  did.  She  hired  herself  to  a  ready-made  linen 
warehouse,  and,  while  she  was  occupied  in  the  ed- 
ucation of  her  children,  plied  her  busy  needle  in- 
cessantly. 


NEW  CHARACTERS.  71 

Let  it  not,  however,  be  supposed,  that  all  this 
was  done  without  exertion  and  fatigue,  both  of 
body  and  mind.  The  imparting  instruction,  even 
to  the  quickest  and  most  docile  of  children,  is  se- 
vere labor;  and  when  to  this  was  added  the  neces- 
sity of  assiduously  attending  to  a  sedentary  and  dull 
occupation,  the  extent  of  her  praiseworthy  efforts 
and  endurance  may  be  understood,  Margaret 
Walsingham  was  a  heroine  in  the  best  sense  of  the 
word ;  still  her  spirits  often  sank,  and  she  felt  bodily 
exhaustion  that  almost  amounted  to  illness;  but  that 
energy  of  mind,  and  that  strength  of  moral  principle, 
which,  combined,  produce  the  truest  heroism,  in 
the  very  moment  of  despondency  brought  hope, 
and  nerved  her  for  further  and  even  greater  exer- 
tion. 

Walsingham's  long  confinement  and  increasing 
illness  made  him  fretful  and  wayward  ;  and,  when 
it  was  necessary  for  the  family  to  remove  from  Pen- 
tonville,  he  insisted  upon  their  taking  a  house,  thoug^i 
it  might  be  ever  so  small,  in  preference  to  lodgings  ; 
for  poor  Mrs.  Kniveit's  cracked  voice,  and  the 
string  of  watches  in  the  window  below,  had  never 
ceased  to  annoy  him.     The  small  house,  therefore, 

in  Street   was  taken,   and   he    was   removed 

thither  in  a  sedan-chair,  as  Miss  Barbara  Poinden 
had  said. 


72  NEW  CHARACTERS. 

The  furniture  had  been  mostly  removed  the  day 
before,  but  his  chamber  was  the  only  room  in  a  state 
of  preparation  ;  into  it  he  was  carried,  and  placed 
in  his  easy  chair. 

*'  Now,  let  that  hideous  pair  of  nymphs  be  carried 
out  of  my  sight,"  were  his  first  words,  as  he  saw 
Grace  put  them  on  the  brackets  which  had  been 
fixed  in  the  wall  ;  "  T  have  seen  those  things  before 
me  for  the  last  five  years  ;  every  fold  of  their  drapery 
is  disgusting  to  me;  they  recall  nothing  but  un- 
pleasant thoughts !"  Grace  stood  rebuked,  and, 
takino  down  tlie  unfortunate  casts,  which,  to  her 
taste,  were  extremely  beautiful — the  only  beautiful 
things  in  the  house — she  carried  them  into  her  own 
chamber,  intending,  with  her  mother's  permission, 
to  keep  them  there. 

Tlie  family  was  soon  settled  in  their  little  domi- 
cil,  and  things  took  that  dull  routine,  in  one  week's 
time,  which  might  continue  for  years.  Walsing- 
ham's  chamber  was  the  first  floor  front — the  airiest 
and  most  cheerful  room  in  the  house.  There  was 
little  prospect  of  his  ever  leaving  this  chamber,  ex- 
cept for  his  last  home.  Here  Mrs.  Walsingham 
generally  sat  at  her  never-ceasing  work.  The 
three  elder  children  came  in  and  out;  but  Grace, 
who  was,  on  many  accounts,  her  father's  favorite, 
was  more  frequently  there  than  any  of  the  others. 


NEW  CHARACTERS.  73 

The  two  eldest  were  the  habitually  useful  members 
of  the  family ;  Mary  was  the  housekeeper,  and 
Willy  the  man-of-all-work.  The  two  youngest, 
Jack  and  little  Margaret,  who,  the  latter  at  least,  had 
been  born,  as  it  were,  to  their  present  fortunes,  and 
who  had  no  remembrance  of  better  days  wherewith 
to  gloom  the  present — who  had  never  had  nursery- 
maids, nor  any  expensive  indulgencies  whatever — 
were  two  bold-spirited,  robust  children,  full  of  health 
and  animal  spirits,  which  nothing  but  the  fear  of 
disturbing  their  father  could  repress ;  they,  there- 
fore, were  but  seldom  the  companions  of  the  poor 
nervous  invalid. 

Good  Miss  Barbara,  over  the  way,  puzzled  herself 
prodigiously  to  know  exactly  how  the  family  man- 
aged matters.  Mrs.  Walsingham's  day  might  be 
said  to  commence  at  nine  o'clock  at  night.  At  that 
hour  her  husband  had  his  supper,  and  settled  down 
for  such  rest  as  he  might  get — she  softly  stealing 
to  the  little  sofa-bed  in  his  chamber  towards  twelve, 
or  later.  After  her  husband  was  left  for  the  night, 
she  began  her  housework,  at  first  alone,  but  by  de- 
grees Mary  and  Willy  insinuated  themselves  into  a 
participation  of  all  the  duties  and  burthens  of  the 
little  household  ;  and  then  it  was  much  more  quickly 
dispatched,  every  thing  being  left  perfectly  clean 
over  night,  and  the  fires  ready  laid  for  lighting  next 


74  NEW  CHARACTERS. 

morning.  Mrs.  Walsingham  was  not  ashamed  of 
the  performance  of  any  duly,  however  humble  ;  yet 
she  had  a  sense  of  self-respect — call  it  pride,  if  you 
please — which  made  her  unwilling  to  be  seen  by 
her  neighbors  employed  in  her  more  menial  offices. 
Hence  her  street  door  was  so  miraculously  cleaned. 
This  was  for  some  time  her  early  morning  work,  for 
it  was  no  use  cleaning  it  over  night.  Mary  was 
willing  to  undertake  it,  but  the  good  mother,  who 
saw  her  daughter  growing  tall  and  comely  for  her 
years,  would  not  thus  expose  her  to  the  notice  of 
early  passers  by,  or  even  of  policemen,  and  it  re- 
mained, for  long,  the  most  unpleasant  of  her  house- 
hold work.  At  length  William  insisted  upon  under* 
taking  it  himself. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  his  mother,  "  it  is  not  quite 
the  proper  work  for  a  boy." 

"  Never  mind  that,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  be  useful  to 

you  ;    and,  besides, "     He  did  not  know  exactly 

what  he  meant  to  say  besides  ;  and  his  mother  urged 
that,  with  his  bad  cough,  it  was  not  right  for  him — 
there  was  so  strong  a  draft  at  the  door,  and  the 
mornings  were  so  cold. 

"  As  to  that,"  said  William,  "  I'll  manage  ;  and  I 
shall  clean  the  knives  and  shoes,  and  I  shall  begin 
to  do  a  great  many  more  things  than  I   have  yet 


NEW  CHARACTERS.  75 

done,  for  I  don't  like  to  see  your  hands  and  Mary's 
get  so  hard." 

His  mother  kissed  liim  with  unfeigned  affection, 
and,  from  that  day  fortli,  William,  true  to  iiis  word, 
cleaned  the  street-door.  It  would^  indeed,  have 
touched  the  kind  heart  of  Miss  Barbara  Poinden, 
had  she  seen  the  thin,  pale-faced  boy,  with  his 
woolen  comforter  tied  round  his  neck,  and  his  old 
cap  on,  cleaning  the  steps  and  rubbing  the  knocker; 
or  had  poor  Waisingham,  in  the  room  above,  only 
knownor  thought  of  all  that  his  family  were  reduced 
to,  it  Avould  have  made  his  sick  bed  more  uneasy 
than  ever,  if  not  have  driven  him  to  his  grave  at 
Oiice.  All  day  long,  after  Mrs.  Waisingham  had 
arranged  with  Mary  the  frugal  family-dinner,  and 
prepared  herself  the  choice  morsel  for  her  hus- 
band's eating,  she  sat  at  her  unceasing  needle- 
work. 

"  That's  beautifully  fine  linen,  said  Waisingham, 
one  day  to  his  wife,  as  she  stood  at  his  bedside, 
gathering  the  sleeve  of  a  shirt;  "  but  why  do  you 
make  up  such  for  me  ?— -why,  indeed,  make  any,  for 
I  shall  not  need  them  long." 

"  My  love,"  replied  liis  wife,  astonished  at  his 
words— for  though  she  had  never  told  him  that  she 
was  compelled  to  do  needlework,  yet,  as  she  had 
done  it  for  the  last  three  years,  she  had  supposed 
him  aware  of  the  fact — "  these  are  not  for  you." 


T6  THE  TWELFTH   HOUR. 

"  Good  Heavens  !"  exclaimed  the  poor  man,  all 
at  once  perceiving  the  truth  ;  "  and  you  are  reduced 
to  this !" 

"  We  none  of  us  complain,  dear  Edward,"  she 
replied,  "  and  to  us  it  is  no  hardship." 

Walsingham  turned  his  face  to  the  pillow  and 
wept:  it  was,  to  his  mind,  another  and  an  un- 
expected proof  of  his  family's  degradation. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


THE  TWELFTH  HOUR. 


Grace,  as  we  have  said,  was  her  father's  favorite. 
She  was  now  nearly  twelve — of  a  pensive  counten- 
ance, delicate  figure,  and  soft,  gentle  manners.  In 
many  respects  she  greatly  resembled  her  father  ; 
she  had  the  same  love  of  elegance,  the  same  tastes, 
and  the  same  irritable  temperament.  She  had  al- 
ways shrunk  from  the  performance  of  the  common 
household  duties,  and  she  had  been  spared  it  by  her 
elder  brother  and  sister.  Having  thus  much  more 
leisure   than   either  of  them,  she    devoted  herself 


THE   TWELFTH   HOUR.  77 

principally  to  waiting  on  her  father,  of  whom  she 
was  extremely  fond,  and  in  reading  to  him.  The 
dingy  paper  and  the  old-fashioned  type  did  not  of- 
fend him,  as  the  words  came  to  his  ear  through  the 
sweet  voice  of  his  daughter  ;  and  thus  many  hours 
of  every  day  were  most  profitably  and  agreeably 
spent. 

"  And  what  has  become  of  those  two  young 
rogues  ?''  asked  the  father,  on  one  of  those  very 
days  of  which  Miss  Barbara  spoke,  when  he  sat 
in  his  easy  chair  ;  "  I  have  not  seen  them  for  weeks, 
nor  scarcely  heard  them  for  days." 

"  They  are  down  stairs,"  said  Grace. 

"  Why  do  they  never  come  to  see  me  ?"  asked 
he,  half  peevishly  ;  "  I  shall  be  entirely  forgotten  at 
this  rale." 

"  They  were  too  noisy  the  last  time  they  were 
up,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Walsingham,  "  I  remember, 
and  I  was  very  angry — but  let  them  come  up 
now." 

Grace  ran  down,  eager  to  convey  to  the  little 
excommunicated  ones  what  she  knew  would  be 
joyful  tidings. 

"  Father  wants  to  see  you,  dears,"  said  Grace,  »• 
as  she  entered  the  little  back  parlor,  in  which  they 
were  busily  playing  at  riding  to  market  on  a  broken 
7 


78  THE  TWELFTH  HOUR. 

chair ;  for  Jack,  though  he  was  turned  nine  years 
old,  liked  that  play  best  which  had  most  fun- 
in  it. 

Down  jumped  they,  overjoyed  at  the  news,  and, 
leaping  up  stairs,  without  waiting  for  Grace  to  look 
at  them,  rushed  into  their  father's  chamber.  They 
had  coarse  pinafores  on,  and  old  shoes  ;  wild,  rough- 
looking  hair,  though  it  had  been  smooth  enough  in 
the  morning  ;  and  their  hands  and  faces  were  very 
far  from  clean.  They  had  been  playing  in  a  room 
without  a  fire,  and,  though  their  blood  was  warm 
with  exercise,  their  red  hands  and  cheeks  looked 
coarse  and  cold.  Poor  Walsingham's  heart  had 
been  full  of  affection,  but  this  sudden  vision  of  robust 
childhood  shocked  him  ;  and,  holding  up  his  feeble 
right  hand  with  a  motion  of  disgust,  and  closing  his 
eyes,  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Margaret,  how  like  com- 
mon children  they  are  grown — I  can  not  bear  to  see 
them !" 

The  poor  children,  who  felt  that  they  had  dis- 
pleased their  father,  though  they  knew  not  how, 
slunk  out  of  the  chamber,  and  stood  outside  the  door 
silent  and  bewildered.  Mrs.  Walsiagham  looked  at 
her  husband,  the  tears  starting  to  her  eyes,  but  said 
nothing.  The  silent  reproof,  however,  went  to  his 
heart. 

"  Margaret,"  said  he  the  next  day,  taking  her  hand 
affectionately,  "  it  is  only  by  very  slow  degrees  that 


THE  TWELFTH  HOURc  79 

I  shall  ever  gain  wisdom.  Thank  God,  however, 
these  last  few  hours  have  taught  me  more  than  years, 
I  have  taken  a  review  of  my  life  :  I  have  seen  the 
duties  I  have  neglected — the  advantages  I  have 
wasted — the  blessings  1  have  thrown  away  !  I  have 
been  an  unworthy  husband,  and  a  negligent  father ; 
but,  please  heaven  to  strengthen  me  in  the  perform- 
ance of  duties,  even  at  the  eleventh  hour  I  will  not 
fail  you." 

His  wife  wept ;  and,  though  she  could  not  blame 
her  husband  as  he  blamed  himself,  she  blessed  God, 
on  her  bended  knees,  for  all  the  mercies  he  had  be- 
stowed upon  them  ;  among  which  she  emphatically 
numbered  her  husband's  prolonged  days  :  and  she 
prayed,  that  whatever  his  pious  wishes  and  desires 
might  be,  that  the  Almighty  would  enable  him  to 
perform  them. 

That  morning  was  as  a  sabbath  of  the  heart. 
The  blessing  of  heaven  was  assuredly  on  that  home 
of  humble  virtue. 

The  two  little  children  were  again  admitted  to  their 
father's  room.  It  is  true  that  Grace  washed  them, 
put  on  their  Sunday  dresses,  and,  with  smoothly 
combed  locks,  sent  them  in,  hand  in  hand.  "You 
should  not  have  done  this,  Grace,"  said  he,  mildly ; 
"  it  is  the  severest  of  reproofs,  and  I  hardly  needed 


80  THE  TWELFTH  HOUR. 

it."    Grace  felt  the  truth  of  her  father's  remark,  and 
wondered  at  her  own  dullness. 

"  How  I  love  father,"  said  Jack,  as  he  went  down 
stairs  again. 

"  I  wish  he  would  get  well,"  said  jMargaret. 
Mary  shook  her  head,  and  the  tears  were  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Why  are  you  crying,  Mary?"  asked  Jack. 
"  Poor  dear  father,"  said  Mary,  "  will  never  be 
any  better." 

Jack  and  Margaret  cried  too.  "  But  what  can  we 
do  for  him  V  asked  the  little  girl. 

"Be  good,  quiet  children,"  replied  their  sister; 
"  learn  some  pretty  verses  to  say  to  him,  and  mind 
to  have  clean  hands  and  faces  when  you  go  up  stairs, 
for  father  can  not  bear  to  see  you  dirty." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Jack,  in  whom  it  was  an  act  of 
virtue  to  be  clean ;  "  and  we  won't  play  at  fish-wo- 
raen  any  more." 

Walsingham  did  not  feel  that  he  could  be  very 
useful  to  Mary.  She  had  no  particular  tastes  ;  her 
characteristics  were,  strong  good  sense,  perfect  dis- 
interestedness, and  keen,  quick  understanding.  What- 
ever she  had  read  she  had  treasured  up  and  compre- 
hended ;  and  whatever  she  did,  she  did  well.  The 
management  of  the  house,  as  we  have  said,  entirely 
devolved  upon  her;  and  it  was  a  mystery  how  one  so 


THE  TWELFTH   HOUR.  81 

perpetually  occupied  with  undignified  duties,  had 
found  time  to  acquire  so  much.  To  William  and 
Grace,  however,  the  father  could  be  essentially  useful 
in  many  ways. 

It  was  a  touching  sight  to  see  the  poor  invalid 
propped  up  in  his  bed,  feeble  as  he  was,  in  the  inter- 
vals of  his  harassing  cough,  teaching  William  his 
Latin  grammar,  or  instructing  him  in  mathematics  ; 
or  even  teaching  the  little  ones  their  elementary  les- 
sons, and  going  through  a  column  of  common  spel- 
ling, when  the  pupil  was  unwittingly  dull,  Avith  a 
patience  and  propriety  that  cast  his  wife^s  former 
efforts  entirely  into  the  shade. 

"  And  have  you  no  drawing  to  ^^how  me,  Grace  ?" 
asked  he  one  day,  after  she  had  read  an  Italian  lesson. 
Grace  hesitated. 

"  What  were  you  doi'.ig  yesterday  ?  Your  mother 
»aid  you  were  drawi.ng." 

"  Yes,  father,  but—" 

"  But  what  ?  Let  me  see  what  you  were  doing," 
added  he,  with  an  earnestness  that  brought  on  his 
cough  with  terrible  violence.  Poor  Grace  thought 
that  she  was  the  cause  of  this,  and  ran  instantly 
to  fetch  her  drawing.  Her  father,  however,  was 
too  much  exhausted  to  give  any  further  lessons 
that  day. 

'7* 


82  THE  TWELFTH  HOUR. 

Next  morning  Grace  went  softly  to  his  bed,  and 
kissing  him  tenderly,  "Dearest  father,"  she  said,  "I 
did  not  wish  to  show  you  the  drawings  yesterday, 
because  I  thought  you  might  not  like  the  subjects  ; 
but,  however,  here  they  are."  And,  half  hesitating 
still,  she  held  up  two  chalk  drawings  of  the  nymphs 
which  he  had  ordered  from  his  chamber.  "  1  have 
been  very  long  over  them,  and  I  only  finished  them 
the  day  before  yesterday." 

"  Ah !"  said  Walsingham,  mournfully,  after  he 
had  examined  them  for  some  time,  "  if  it  would  only 
please  heaven  to  prolong  my  life,  what  pleasure  we 
two  might  have  together  !" 

From  this  day  forward  Grace  received  drawing 
lessons  from  her  father,  whenever  he  was  able  to 
give  them. 

The  discarded  casts  were  again  placed  on  their 
brackets,  or  on  a  stand,  as  best  suited  the  student ; 
and,  now  in  one  position,  and  now  in  another,  they 
were  copied  over  and  over,  until  Grace  became 
even  more  familiar  with  every  fold  than  her  father 
had  been. 

Mrs.  Walsingham  had  said,  in  the  early  time  of 
their  misfortunes,  that  happiness  was  not  entirely 
dependent  on  wealth.  The  truth  of  this  assertion 
was  proved;  and  her  husband  himself,  whose 
memory  was  painfully  alive  to  every  circumstance 


THE  TWELFTH   HOUR.  83 

of  the  past,  was  the  first  to  remind  her  of  her  own 
words. 

The  time  of  separation,  however,  was  drawing 
near:  Latin,  mathematics,  Italian,  and  drawing, 
were  studied  only  at  irregular  times,  and  with  longer 
intervals.  At  length  the  physician,  who  had  had 
his  stated  times  for  calling,  was  summoned  suddenly, 
owing  to  Walsingham's  increased  illness  ;  and  he 
announced  that,  in  all  probability,  a  few  days  would 
terminate  the  poor  invalid's  suffering.  He  was  right. 
Walsingham  died  but  two  days  after  this  opinion  was 
given. 

How  like  a  good  Samaritan  would  Miss  Poinden 
have  seemed  to  the  stricken  heart  of  poor  Mrs.  Wal- 
singham, had  she  sent  in  Martha  with  her  compli- 
ments and  offers  of  neighborly  service  ;  for  on  that 
very  morning,  for  the  first  time,  Margaret  Walsing- 
ham felt  hopelessly  forlorn ! 

But  "  God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb  ;" 
and  the  widow  soon  ceased  to  mourn  as  one  that 
refused  to  be  comforted. 


84 


CHAPTER    X. 


NEW   PROSPECTS. 


By  the  death  of  Walsingham,  his  family  was  de- 
prived of  the  only  certain  income  which  they  had 
possessed  for  several  years  ;  but  their  industry, 
their  combined  efforts  and  affections,  and  their 
good  economy,  that  surest  of  all  alchemy,  were 
left ;  with  this  joint  stock  the  mother  looked  to 
the  future  with  an  anxious,  it  is  true,  but  an  un- 
dismayed heart.  The  last  quarterly  payment  had 
been  received  only  two  weeks  before  poor  Walsing- 
ham's  death,  and  they  had  punctually  been  paid 
the  bequeathed  fifty  pounds  for  his  funeral  ex- 
penses. 

It  was  with  an  unexpressed,  but  a  general 
sentiment  of  still  closer  drawn  affection,  that  the 
little  family  group  gathered  round  their  fire  on  the 
mournful  evening  of  the  funeral.  The  tea  was 
almost  silently  taken,  even  by  the  younger  branches 
of  the  family  ;  and,  as  they  sat  in  a  still  prolonged 
silence,  now  and  then  a  sob  might  be  heard  from 
some  heart  whose  sorrow  was  too  strong  to  be 
repressed. 


NEW    PROSPECTS. 


85 


Mrs.  Walsingham  was  the  first  to  make  an  effort 
at  dispelling  the  general  gloom,  although  her  own 
heart  at  the  time  felt  an  unwonted  depression.  *'  My 
children,"  she  said,  "  it  has  pleased  God  to  afflict  us ; 
but  it  is  not  his  will  that  we  should  sink  under  any 
affliction.  Years  of  experience  have  proved  to  me, 
that  no  dispensation  comes  from  his  hand  without  its 
full  freight  of  mercies.  We  have  lost  a  dear 
friend" — and  here  the  widow's  voice  faltered — "  or 
rather,  I  should  say,"  she  continued,  "  the  Almighty 
has  taken  him  to  his  rest ;  and  we  are  left,  my 
children,  but  not  without  sufficient  blessings  :  we 
have  health,  united  affections,  and  various  faculties, 
and,  as  I  trust,  before  God  and  man,  clear  con- 
sciences !  How,  then,  should  we  utter  a  complaint, 
or  why  should  we  be  cast  down  ?" 

"But  what  can  we  do?"  asked  William  ;  "how 
can  we  help  you  ?" 

"  We  can  do  many  things,"  said  Mary,  hopefully  ; 
"  whatever  mother  determines  upon  doing,  we  shall 
find  many  ways  of  helping  her." 

"  Now  I  can  run  up  and  down  stairs,  without 
fearing  to  make  a  noise,"  said  Jack,  cheerfully  ;  "  I'll 
carry  up  the  coal  and  water,  for  I  am  a  deal  stronger 
than  you,  William." 

"Ah!"  remarked  poor  Grace,  with  a  faltering 
voice,  "  there  will  need  no  more  coal  up  stairs 
now  !" 


86  NEW    PROSPECTS. 

•'  My  plans,  dear  children,"  said  Mrs.  Walsing- 
ham,  "  are  these,  and  I  make  you  all  confidants  in 
them ;  because  from  all  of  you,  for  the  present  at 
least,  I  shall  need  co-operation.  I  shall  open  a  small 
haberdasher's  shop." 

"A  shop!"  repeated  the  elder  ones. 

"  I  formed  this  plan,"  continued  she,  "  long 
since,  in  anticipation  of  the  event  which  it  has 
pleased  heaven  should  now   take  place.     There  is 

at  the  corner  of Street,   which    is    a  good 

thoroughfare,  and  leads  to  the  Park,  a  small  shop 
now  to  be  let.  That  I  intend  to  take.  We  must 
be  very  humble  at  first,  and  contented  with  very 
small  things,  for  my  capital  would  seem  absurd  to 
tradesmen  generally  ;  but  I  remember  the  widow's 
mite,  and  the  widow's  oil,  and  I  am  not  discour- 
aged." 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  a  re-discussion  of 
the  shop-keeping  scheme  the  next  morning,  as  Mrs. 
Walsingham  and  her  two  eldest  girls  wereemployed 
over  a  set  of  shirts,  which  had  been  interrupted  by 
Walsingham's  death.  William  hurried  the  last  of 
the  breakfast  things,  which  he  had  been  washing,  into 
the  cupboard,  and  ran  to  the  door.  It  was  the  good 
physician  who  had  attended  his  father.  Without 
the  ceremony  of  an  apology,  or  any  circuitous  intro- 
duction— for   Dr.    Elliot    had    never  a  moment   to 


NEW  PROSPECTS.  87 

spare — he  began  with  the  occasion  of  his  call.  He 
wished  to  know  if  there  was  any  way  in  which  he 
could  assist  them.  In  a  very  few  words  Mrs.  Wal- 
singham  stated  her  plans,  and  her  wish  to  retain  the 
assistance  of  her  three  elder  children.  "  Very  good, 
very  good,"  said  the  physician  ;  "  quite  right,  Mrs. 
Walsingham." 

"  For  my  youngest  boy,"  said  she,  half  hesi- 
tating  

"What!  the  fine  little  fellow  with  the  black 
hair,"  said  he,  glancing  round,  as  if  expecting  to 
find  him. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  ;  "  there  are,  sir,  many  good 
institutions  in  London,  where  he  would  receive  a 
better  education  than  I  have  any  chance  of  giving 
him  at  present." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  to  be  sure,"  said  the  physician,  "  a 
boy  like  that  deserves  a  good  education ;  I'll  see 
what  I  can  do  for  him.  And  as  to  this  shop-keep- 
ing scheme  of  yours — you'll  pardon  me,  but  some 
capital  is  needed." 

Poor  Mrs.  Walsingham,  free  from  false  shame  as 
she  was,  felt  some  hesitation  in  mentioning  the 
amount  of  her  capital,  and  a  slight  color  passed  over 
her  cheek. 

"  If,  my  good  lady,"  continued  the  physician, "  one 
or  two  hundred  pounds  would  be  useful  to  you,  have 
no  reluctance  in  asking  it  from  me." 


88  x\EW    PROSPECTS. 

• 

"  Oh  sir !"  said  she,  "  I  would  not  venture  to 
borrow  sums  as  large  as  those  ;  but  if  I  should  need 
assistance,  I  will  not  forget  that  God  has  sent  me  a 
friend. " 

"  All  perfectly  right,"  responded  the  Doctor,  as 
if  he  had  been  hearing  the  effect  of  a  prescription; 
and,  giving  his  hand,  and  liurrying  away  at  the  same 
moment,  in  three  seconds  more  he  was  driving  down 
the  street. 

"  The  last  of  their  goods  are  gone  now,"  said  Miss 
Barbara  Poinden,  about  a  fortnight  after  the  above 
conversation ;  "  and  very  clean,  respectable  goods 
they  are,  though  old-fashioned.  And  now  there 
goes  Mrs.  Walsingham — poor  woman,  how  respecta- 
ble she  looks  in  her  mourning — and  that  pale-faced 
boy  too — she  has  put  the  key  in  her  pocket — they 
will  sleep  to-night  at  their  new  house.  Bless  me, 
what  a  deal  I  think  about  those  people,  and  never 
spoke  one  word  to  them  in  all  my  life  ?" 

"  Whether  you  speak  to  them  or  not,"  said  her 
sister,  "  you  speak  enough  of  them." 

"  But,  did  I  tell  you,"  asked  Miss  Barbara,  not 
perceiving  that  her  sister's  remark  was  intended  for 
a  reproof,  "  that  the  second  boy  has  actually  got  tlie 
Blue-coat  School  dress  on  ?  I  protest,  I  didn't  know 
him  at  first,  for  all  his  beautiful  black  hair,  you  know, 
sister,  is  cut  off — they  make  those  boys  such  frights  ! 
And   he  looked  half  ashamed  of  his  yellow  stock- 


NEW    PROSPECTS,  89 

• 

ings  ;  I  declare  I  was  quite  sorry  for  him  ;  and  he 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  sister's  when  they  went  out 
yesterday — no,  it  was  the  day  before  yesterday — as 
if  he  wanted  some  body  to  countenance  him,  and 
make  him  feel  that  he  was  himself;  and  yet  he's  a 
fine,  bold  lad,  with  ten  times  the  spirit  of  his  brother. 
That  boy  will  go  off  in  a  consumption,  it's  my 
opinion,  and,  if  I  were  his  mother,  he  should  wear 
flannel  on  his  chest." 

"  Martha  says,"  again  began  Miss  Barbara,  after 
she  had  knit  three  rows  of  the  worsted  shawl  which 
was  then  occupying  her,  "  that  they  have  opened  a 
shop — a  little  haberdasher's  shop — some  where  in 

, Street.      I  think,  sister,  we  might  be  a 

few  shillings  in  their  Vv'ay  now  and  then  ;  pins  and 
needles,  and  stay-laces,  and  buttons,  and  sewing- 
cotton,  are  articles  always  in  demand." 

"  We  are  very  well  served  at  Venables's,"  replied 
Miss  Poinden  ;  "  and  articles  bought  from  those 
little  shops  are  always  inferior." 

"  Ah !"  sighed  Miss  Barbara,  fearing  within 
herself  that  she  had  no  chance  with  her  sister,  "  if 
every  body  reasoned  so,  what  would  become  of  the 
small  shop-keepers?" 

"  Thank  heaven  !"  returned  Miss  Poinden,  "  that 
I  am  not  a  small  shop-keeper,  and,  therefore,  it  is  no 
concern  of  mine." 

8 


90  NEW    PROSPECTS. 

The  little  shop  at  the  corner  of Street  was 

to  be  opened  on  the  following  Monday.  Mrs. 
Walsingham's  capital  amounted  to  seven-and-thirty 
pounds ;  and  ten  pounds  siie  borrowed  from  Dr. 
Elliot,  but  not  until  she  had  found  that  her  seven- 
and-thirty  would  be  entirely  consumed  in  the 
purchase  of  her  little  stock,  for  all  of  which  she 
paid  ready  money. 

The  little  shop  was  neat  and  clean,  and  cheerful- 
looking  to  begin  with  ;  there  was  altogether  a  happy 
look  about,  it,  even  before  the  goods  were  put  in  it ; 
and  the  physiognomy,  even  of  a  shop,  is  of  some 
importance.  How  busy  each  member  of  the  family 
was  in  arranging  every  thing  in  its  proper  place  ; — 
the  neatly-tied-up  packets  of  gloves — no  great  quan- 
tity of  them,  we  confess  ;  the  stockings,  the  mils, 
the  various  woollen  wares  of  divers  colors;  the 
crewels,  the  worsteds,  the  wool  ;  the  compartmented 
drawers  of  sewing-cotton,  white  and  colored  ; 
the  buttons,  the  wire,  the  thread,  the  tnpe,  the 
pins  and  needles,  and  all  the  thousand  multi- 
farious articles  of  the  haberdasher's  ware.  There 
was  a  glass-case  with  its  small  store  of  cutlery 
in  one  part,  and  a  few  dolls,  wax  and  composition, 
in  the  other. 

The  shop  made  no  great  show  after  all  ;  but  a 
world   of  thought  and  care   was  expended- over   it. 


NEW    PROSPECTS.  91 

William  rubbed  and  polished  the  wood- work,  and 
cleaned  the  windows,  and  left  not  an  atom  of  dust 
in  any  corner ;  Grace  arranged  the  colors  of  the 
wools  and  netting-silks,  so  as  to  produce  the  best 
effect,  and  then  she  sat  down  with  her  sister  and 
mother,  for  three  whole  days,  before  the  shop  was 
opened,  to  assist  them  in  stitching  gentlemen's 
collars,  in  making  stocks,  and  in  knitting  some 
dozen  woollen  night-caps  and  comforters,  little 
socks,  and  mils,  which,  as  autumn  had  set  in,  they 
thought  might  be  attractive. 

At  last  the  Saturday  night  came,  which  con- 
cluded their  labcrs.  The  shop  was  to  be  opened 
on  the  Monday  morning  ;  and,  for  the  first  time  for 
several  years,  the  mother  and  her  five  children 
went  altogether  to  church.  It  was  an  anxious 
Sunday  to  all  the  elder  members  of  the  family ; 
the  mother  herself  felt  more  anxious  than  she 
chose  to  avow  ;  and  she  did  not  sleep  that  night 
without  putting  up  a  prayer  to  the  x\lmighty,  that  he 
would  be  pleased  to  bless  these  her  humble  but 
honest  endeavors. 

William  was  up  before  it  was  light.  He  passed 
first  into  the  little  shop,  to  see  that  all  was  right ; 
he  lit  the  ready-laid  kitchen  fire,  cleaned  the 
shoes,  and  then  opened  the  shop-shutters,  which 
was  to  be  his  business.      He   was,  in  fact,  to  be 


92  NEW  PROSPECTS. 

porter,  errand-boy,  youngest  apprentice,  and  head- 
clerk,  all  in  one.  There  was  no  customer  before 
breakfast;  and,  while  that  meal  was  dispatching 
in  the  little  back  room,  which  opened  into  the 
shop — the  only  room,  indeed,  on  the  ground-floor — 
every  eye  was  continually  turned  to  the  shop-door, 
as  if  customers  were  plenty  as  black-berries ;  but 
none  came.  Mrs.  Walsingham  sat  behind  the 
counter,  busy  at  needle-work,  all  the  morning  ;  and 
Mary  and  Grace,  after  their  house  work  was  done, 
sat  down  also,  to  prepare  what,  it  was  hoped, 
others  would  buy  ;  Mary,  to  knit  night-caps  :  and 
Grace,  to  net  purses.  WilUam  fidgetted  about 
from  the  counter  to  the  door,  from  the  door  to  the 
inner  room,  full  of  nervous  excitement,  for  nobody 
came.  Two  ragged  children,  for  a  penny  ball  of 
cotton,  a  servant-gill,  who  came  intending  to  buy 
shoes,  and  took  a  shilling  pair  of  scissors  instead, 
and  a  policeman,  who  bought  a  fourteen-penny 
pair  of  woollen  gloves,  were  the  first  day's  cus- 
tomers. 

A  week  went  on,  and  things  got  no  better.  It 
was  not  encouraging.  The  family  left  off  taking 
supper,  partly  because  they  were  out  of  spirits, 
partly  from  motives  of  economy  ;  for  those  who  had 
so  little  coming  in,  and  whose  very  bread  was  bought 


NEW    PROSPECTS.  93 

witli  borrowed  money,  must  be  satisfied,  they  thought, 
with  three  meals  a  day. 

"  Did  you  notice  a  little  haberdasher's  shop  at 
the  corner?"  asked  a  certain  Mrs.  Spenser,  as  she 
walked  one  fine  day,  about  this  time,  towards  the 
Park.  Her  husband  replied  that  he  had  not. 
"  She  is  a  widow,"  continued  his  wife,  "  who  has 
jusi  opened  that  shop.  I  have  not  been  in  it  yet, 
but  her  anxious  countenance  strikes  me  every 
time  I  go  past.  She  looks  to  me  like  one  who 
has  seen  better  days.  I  doubt  her  shop  will  not 
answer  ;  and  she  seems,  poor  thing,  to  have  several 
children." 

"  Can  not  you  buy  sometliing  from  her  ?"  asked 
her  husband  ;  "  for  you  ladies  are  happily  gifted  with 
never-supplied  wants." 

"  I  will,"  replied  Mrs.  Spenser,  "  and  we  will  call 
on  our  return." 

They  did  so.  Poor  Mrs.  Walsingham  was 
cheered  by  their  entrance  ;  so  was  William,  who, 
since  he  had  nothing  better  to  do,  had  taken  his  old 
Latin  dilectus  to  get  on  with  his  lessons  ;  so  were 
Mary  and  Grace,  to  whom  little  Margaret,  who  had 
been  sitting  on  a  high  stool  by  her  mother  at  the 
counter,  ran  to  communicate  the  joyful  intelligence, 
that  such  a  handsome  lady  and  gentleman  were 
buying  such  a  many  things,  and  were  paying  in 
8* 


94  NEW   PROSPECTS. 

gold!  Five-and-lhirty  shillings  good  Mrs.  Spenser 
laid  out  that  morning  at  the  little  haberdasher's 
shoj) ;  a  sovereign,  half-a-sovereign,  and  a  five 
shilling  piece ;  there  was  some  thing  generous  in 
the  very  look  of  the  coin.  But  far  more  than 
the  money's  worth  was  the  kind  look,  and  the  few 
worjs  of  kind  inquiry  and  sympathizing  good- will 
which  were  spoken. 

"  How  I  wish  it  had  been  a  great,  big  parcel,  ever 
so  heavy,"  said  William,  "  that  I  might  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  carrying  it  home  for  them  !" 

It  seemed  as  if  Mrs.  Spenser's  purchase  had 
brought  good  luck  with  it.  An  old  man  came  in 
before  they  went  out  of  the  shop,  and  two  young 
ladies  immediately  succeeded  him.  In  the  evening 
William  said  there  had  been  fifteen  customers  ;  and 
Mrs.  Walsingham  announced  that  she  had  taken 
four  pounds. 


95 


CHAPTER    XI. 

LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow;  and  the  first 

HOLIDAY. 

Things  were  decidedly  taking  a  turn  for  the  bet- 
ter ;  and,  es  the  winter  came  on,  so  great  was  the 
demand   for  Mrs.   Walsingham's   peculiarly   warm, 
home-made    comforters,     night-caps,     gloves,     and 
socks,  that  it   required    the  unceasing  industry  of 
herself   and  her  two  daughters  to   supply  the   de- 
mand.    Among  her  custo.mers   was  a  lady  of   the 
name  of  Aukland.      She   had   one   little  daughter, 
about  six  years  old,  who,  on  her  next  birth-day, 
was  to  have   a   wax-doll   which    could    open    and 
shut  its   eyes.     In    the    centre   of  Mrs.    Walsing- 
ham's  glass-case  lay  a   doll   of    this    description, 
beautiful  beyond  measure  in  the  eyes  of  this  little 
child — a  doll  which  sometimes  lay  with   its  eyes 
open,  and  sometimes  with  them  shut.      There  was 
anpther  little   girl,  besides  this,  whose   heart  had 
kindled  with  the  most   excessive  admiration  of  this 
wax  miracle,  and  that  was  Margaret  Walsinghara. 
Margaret  had  never   possessed    any  bought    toys  ; 
she  never  had  a  better  doll  than  the   one  which 


96  LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow. 

Grace  manufactured  for  her  of  linen;  a  beautiful 
doll,  as  the  grateful  but  inexperienced  child  then 
thought ;  but  oh,  how  inferior  to  these  in  her 
mother's  glass-case,  and  to  this,  the  very  queen  and 
empress  of  them  all ! 

Mrs.  Walsingham  had  forbidden  her  to  open 
the  glass-case,  but  her  admiration  througli  the 
glass  was  allowable.  The  little  girl  seated  her- 
self often  by  her  mother,  pleasing  herself  with 
day-dreams  of  how,  if  she  had  that  doll,  she 
would  dress  it  for  the  day  and  carry  it  out  with  its 
blue  eyes  open,  and  then  how  she  would  bring  it 
home,  take  off  its  gay  clothes,  put  on  its  night- 
dress, little  frilled  cap  and  all,  shut  its  eyes,  and 
lay  it  to  sleep  on  her  own  pillow.  Such  excessive 
admiration  coul4  not  exist  without  touching;  and, 
spite  of  the  prohibition,  the  little  girl,  one  day 
when  the  shop,  with  closed  door,  was  left  to  her 
keeping,  opened  the  glass-case  and  gently  pulled 
the  wire  ;  the  pink  eyelids  closed,  and  the  child 
was  ready  to  scream  with  delight ;  another  touch, 
and  they  opened.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  doll 
woke  and  smiled  upon  her.  "  How  I  wish  she  were 
mine  !"  sighed  she,  as,  with  a  throbbing  heart,  she 
closed  the  glass-case. 

Her  mother  entered,  but  said  not  a  word  ;  she 
had  not  seen  her.     The  temptation,  once  yielded 


LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow.  97 

to,  could  no  longer  be  resisted,  and  the  doll's  eyes 
accordingly  were  sometimes  open  and  sometimes 
shut.  Neither  Mrs.  Walsingham,  nor  the  elder 
girls,  nor  even  William,  had  noticed  this  circum- 
stance ;  but  so  it  was.  Margaret  used  to  delight 
herself  with  the  fearful  pleasure,  whenever  she 
found  herself  alone  in  the  shop.  One  unfortunate 
day,  however,  as  she  heard  her  mother's  step  near 
the  door,  she  jerked  the  wire  upwards,  to  open  the 
eyes,  and  suddenly  closed  the  glass-case.  The 
next  time  she  went,  the  wire  moved  freely,  but 
the  eyelids  never  closed.  How  was  this  ? — what 
was  amiss — had  she  done  it  ?  Yes  ;  and  she  then 
remembered  the  jerk  and  the  loose  sensation  with 
which  the  wire  went  backwards  : — the  doll  was 
spoiled  !  All  at  once  the  horrible  sense  of  diso- 
bedience, the  dread  of  detection,  the  wish  that  all 
was  known,  tiiat  she  could  undo  what  she  had  done 
— all  the  agony,  in  short,  of  an  outrage  done  to  a 
tender  conscience,  fell  upon  her  spirit.  The  violent 
crimson  which  had  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair, 
and  the  tips  of  her  ears,  faded  away,  and  a  heavy 
s€nse  of  misery  lay  at  her  heart,  that  paled  and 
saddened  her  countenance. 

"  Oh,  T  wish  Jack  was  at  home  !  I  could  tell  it 
all  to  Jack  !"  sobbed  the  poor  child,  as,  after  unu- 
sual kindness  from  her   mother  and   sisters,  who, 


98      LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow. 

supposing  her  ill,  had  sent  her  early  to  a  warm  bed, 
^^^e  lay  tossing  from  side  to  side.  "  What  shall  I 
•^0?  what  shall  I  do?"  again,  and  again,  she  ex- 
claimed, till,  fairly  exhausted  with  her  distress,  she 
sank  into  heavy  sleep,  only  to  wake  with  a  soreness 
of  heart  on  the  morrow. 

The  morrow  was  the  day  before  Christmas  Eve, 
and  the  lady  and  her  sister,  wrapped  in  fur  and  velvet, 
came  in  to  purchase  the  birth-day  present. 

"  Aly  little  girl,"  said  the  lady,  "has  fixed  her 
affections  on  a  handsome  wax-doll  of  yours,  which 
can  open  and  shut  its  eyes.  To  morrow  is  her 
birth-day,  and  I  wish  to  purchase  it  for  a  birth-day 
present." 

IMaraarct  was  sitting  at  the  counter  as  these  words 
were  spoken.  Her  mother  expressed  her  pleasure 
and  her  thanks  ;  opened  tlie  glass-case,  and  took 
out  the  doll,  intending  to  exhibit  its  accomplish- 
ments ;  but  the  wire  produced  no  effect.  She 
remarked  that  this  was  certainly  very  strange.  The 
doll  had  been  injured  ;  she  could  not  conceive  how 
it  had  happened. 

"  Oh,  mother,  dearest,  dearest  mother,  I  did 
it!"  exclaimed  Marsaret,  seiziufj  her  mother's  hand, 
and  laying  her  face  upon  it ;  "  can  you  ever  forgive 
me?" 


LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow.  99 

"  My  child,"  said  her  mother,  "  you  have  done 
very  wrong  ;  you  have  done  me  great  mischief  !" 

The  child  hiid  her  face  on  tlie  counter,  and  sobbed 
violently. 

"  You  naug])ty  little  girl  !"  said  the  lady,  "  if  I 
were  your  mamma,  1  would  whip  you  !' 

"  She  suffers  more  at  this  moment,"  replied 
Mrs.  VValsingham,  calmly,  "  than  she  would  from 
such  a  punisimient.  But  the  doll  is  certainly 
spoiled,  and  I  am  sorry  I  have  not  another  to  offer 
you." 

"  It  might  soon  be  repaired,"  whispered  the 
lady's  sister  to  her  ;  "  I  could  almost  do  it  myself. 
She'll  sell  it  cheap,"  added  she,  within  the  other's 
bonnet. 

"  It  is  certainly  spoiled,"  continued  the  lady, 
in  reply  to  Mrs  Walsingham,  "  but  I  don't  know 
that  Sopiiy  would  mind  about  the  eyes,  for  it  is  just 
as  pretty  as  ever." 

"If  It  please  the  young  lady  quite  as  well,  it 
might  do,"  said  Mrs.  Walsingham,  again  presenting 
the  doll. 

"  What  is  the  price  ?"  asked  the  lady. 

"  Seven  shillings,  in  its  uninjured  state,  madam." 

'•Seven  sliilhngs  !"  said  the  sister,  "it  is  not 
worth  more  than  five  now  ; — in  fact,  I  would  not 
buy  a  damaged  doll  at  any  price  ;    but  Mrs.   Auk- 


100     LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow, 

land  must  please  herself,"  said  she,  touching  her 
elbow  at  the  same  time,  which  was  intended  to  say, 
"  Buy  it !" 

"  I  think  I  could  get  it  repaired  for  you  at  the 
toy-manufactory,"  said  Mrs.  Walsingham. 

"  We  must  have  it  to-day,"  said  the  sister  ;  "  it's 
no  use  waiting  to  have  it  repaired.  If  we  have 
it  at  all,  we  must  have  it  to-night,  to  get  it 
dressed." 

"I'll  give  you  five  shillings  for  it,"  said  the 
lady  ;  "  and,  if  it  can  be  repaired,  we  can  get  it 
done." 

"  I  think  that's  very  fair,"  said  the  sister,  who 
acted  on  all  occasion'?  as  a  corps-de-reserve, 

"  "Very  fair,  Mrs.  Walsingham,"  repeated  the 
lady. 

"  I  shall  lose  by  it,"  said  Mrs.  Walsingham,  *'  more 
than  I  can  well  afford." 

"  Of  course  you  expect  to  lose  by  damaged 
goods,"  argued  the  sister ;  "  and,  do  you  remem- 
ber, little  miss,"  said  she,  leaning  over  the  coim- 
ter  to  Margaret,  who  still  sat  with  her  face  bu- 
ried in  her  hands,  "never  io  meddle  with  your 
mamma's  property  again  ;  for  you  hear  she'll  be  a 
loser  by  it." 

"I  am  a  good  customer  of  yours,  Mrs.  W^alsing- 
ham,"  said  the  lady,  in  an  insinuating  voice,  "  and 


LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow.  101 

we  like  your  woollen  socks  so  much,  that  we  must 
have  another  dozen  pair." 

"  I  thank  you,"  returned  Mrs.  Walsingham ;  "  and 
what  size  did  you  wish  ?" 

"  I  must  call  and  bring  you  a  pattern,"  replied 
the  lady ;  "  but  we  must  have  the  doll ;"  and, 
taking  a  five-shilling  piece  from  her  purse,  she  laid 
it  on  the  counter.  "  I  have  been  a  very  good  cus- 
tomer of  yours,  Mrs.  Walsingham,  and  I  shall  send 
all  my  friends  to  you." 

Mrs.  Walsingham  thanked  her.  "  You  must 
let  your  little  boy  carry  the  doll  into  the  Regent's 
Park  :  there  is  the  address,"  said  she,  giving  a 
card.  "  And  you  must  run,  little  boy,"  said  she, 
addressing  William,  "  and  mind  you  do  not  break 
the  doll  ;  for  we  shall  take  a  fly  directly,  and  I 
shall  be  quite  provoked  if  you  are  not  there  in 
time.  I'll  call  about  the  socks  in  a  day  or  two,  Mrs. 
Walsingham." 

"  I've  a  great  mind  not  to  carry  the  doll  for  her," 
said  William,  quite  out  of  humor,  and  very  slowly 
putting  on  his  hat  and  gloves  ;  "  and,  if  it  were  not 
to  oblige  you,  mother,  I  would  not !" 

"  Oh,  mother,  will  you  ever  kiss  me  again — will 
you  ever  forgive  me— will  you  ever  trust  me 
again  ?"  asked  Margaret,  half  afraid  to  look  into 
9 


102  LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow. 

her  mother's  face,  as  soon  as  William  was  out  of 
the  shop. 

"  To  be  sure  I  shall  forgive  you,"  replied  her 
mother,  "  and  trust  you  also,  in  order  that  you  may 
prove  yourself  trust-worthy.  You  must  consider, 
my  dear  cliild,  that  it  is  as  important  for  us  to  preserve 
our  property  uninjured,  as  it  is  to  increase  it.  You 
are  too  young  yet  to  increase  it ;  all  you  can  do  is 
not  to  injure  it.  This  doll  cost  me  five  shillings  and 
sixpence  ;  I  hoped  to  sell  it  for  seven,  and  thus  gain 
one  shilling  and  sixpence  by  it.  You  have  injured 
the  doll,  and  I  can  only  obtain  five  shillings  for  it ; 
I  am  thus  a  loser  by  you,  not  only  sixpence  in  the 
first  cost  of  the  doll,  but  one  and  sixpence  also  which 
I  hoped  to  gain.      Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,"  sobbed  Margaret. 

"  What  can  I  do  to  help  mother  ?"  asked  Mar- 
garet, from  her  sisters,  to  whom  she  told  her  trou- 
ble, and  her  grief  for  her  mother's  loss  ;  "  you  are 
at  work  for  her  ;  can  I  do  nothing  to  make  up  her 
loss,  at  least  ?" 

"  1  think  we  can  put  you  in  away  of  doing  some- 
thing to  make  up  her  loss,"  said  Mary,  kissing  her  : 
"have  you  any  money  at  all  ?" 

"  I  have  only  one  silver  sixpence,  which  the  gen- 
tleman gave  me  for  picking  up  his  purse  in  the  shop,'^ 
said  Margaret. 


LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow.  103 

"  If  I  were  to  set  you  some  knitting,  would  you 
take  pains  to  learn  ?"  inquired  her  sister.  Margaret 
joyfully  promised. 

The  knitting  was  set,  and,  after  about  a  week's 
practice,  Margaret  was  pronounced  able  to  begin 
upon  a  night-cap. 

"  But  don't  you  say  a  single  word  to  mother," 
said  the  little  girl.  "  And,  don't  you  think  she  will 
be  very  much  surprised  when  I  give  her  the  two 
shillings  ?" 

Her  sisters  thought  she  would,  and  promised  to 
be  faithful.  The  sixpence  was  laid  out  in  wool, 
which  produced  two  caps  worth  fifteen-pence  ;  this, 
again,  was  expended  on  fresh  material;  and,  in 
somewhat  more  than  two  months'  time,  the  little  girl 
had  two  shillings  in  hand,  besides  three  caps  in  her 
mother's  shop.  Of  course  all  this  little  merchandise 
could  not  be  carried  on  without  Mrs.  Walsingham's 
knowledge  ;  but  it  was  understood  amongst  them,  that 
Margaret's  laudable  mystery  should  be  inviolate,  and 
that  no  one  should  anticipate  her  act  of  justice,  even 
by  commendation. 

One  morning — it  was  on  Shrove  Tuesday — Mar- 
garet was  observed  by  her  mother  at  breakfast  to 
look  very  smiling ;  to  glance  at  her  brother  and  sis- 
ters, and  to  fidget  about  in  her  chair,  as  if  for  very 


104     LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow. 

joy.  "  What  makes  you  look  so  pleased,  yet  so 
mysterious  ?"  asked  she.  Margaret  took  from  her 
bosom  a  neat  little  packet,  in  white  paper.  "  I  have 
a  little  present  for  you,  mother,"  she  said — "  and  yet 
not  quite  a  present  either  ; — it  is  the  money  I  owe 
you — the  two  shillings — don't  you  remember  ?" — and 
she  blushed  and  hesitated,  unwilling  to  remind  her 
mother  of  the  doll. 

"  You  are  a  dear,  honest  little  girl,"  said  her 
mother,  opening  the  packet,  and  looking  at  the 
money  with  great  pleasure.  "  You  have  shown 
wonderful  perseverance  ;  for  this  money,  I  suppose, 
is  obtained  from  the  sale  of  those  caps  you  have 
been  knitting  so  long  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  Margaret. 

"  You  have  shown  a  strong  and  clear  sense  of 
honor  and  justice  in  this  little  affair.  You  have 
given  me  real  pleasure,"  said  her  mother,  kissing  her 
aflfectionately. 

"  I  never  was  so  happy  in  all  my  life,"  exclaimed 
the  child,  "  and  I  don't  care  about  dolls  now !" 

"  Then,"  said  her  mother.  "  if  I  were  to  offer  you 
a  doll,  a  very  nice  doll,  in  exchange  for  your  remain- 
ing caps,  you  would  not  accept  it  V 

"  I  think  not,"  said  she,  half  hesitating ;  "  but 
what  do  you  say,  Mary  ?" 


LITTLE  Margaret's  sorrow.  105 

"  Be  guided,  my  love,"  said  her  mother,  "  by  your 
own  inclinations — by  your  own  judgment." 

"  No — I  won't  have  a  doll,"  was  at  length  her  de- 
cision ;  "  it  would  remind  me  of  that  unfortunate 
day." 

"  You  shall  go  with  me  this  morning,"  said  her 
mother,  "  to  Dr.  Elliott's.  I  am  going  to  return  the 
money  which  he  so  kindly  lent  me  when  we  first 
opened  the  shop." 

"  It  is  a  happy  thing  to  pay  money  that  one  owes," 
replied  she  ;  "  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going  !" 

"  And  as  the  shops  will  be  closed  after  twelve," 
remarked  Mrs.  Walsingham,  "  suppose  we  all  of  us 
— Jack  too-^go  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  ?  Dr. 
Elliott  gave  you  tickets  long  ago." 

"  So  did  Mrs.  Spenser,"  remarked  Mary. 

"  How  delightful !  how  delightful !"  shouted 
Margaret ;  and  all  agreed  that  it  was  a  happy 
thought. 

That  Shrove  Tuesday,  bright  and  warm  beyond 
most  early  spring  days,  afforded  to  this  toiling  and 
worthy  family  their  first  real  holiday. 

Blessings  on  those  old  holy-days  of  the  Catholic 
institutions,  which,  as  if  in  benevolent  foreknowledge 
of  the  wants  of  modern  social  life,  are  still  retained  ! 
Blessings  on  them,  I  say,  for  they  are  like  sunny 
glimpses  in  the  desert  of  worky-day-life  ;  like  a 
9* 


106  BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS, 

pause  in  the  wheel  that  grinds  ;  like  a  relaxing  of 
the  chain  that  pinches.  There  is  a  sort  of  God-send 
in  them  ;  they  seem  out  of  the  common  run  of  things ; 
an  extra  day  of  rest,  besides  the  one  in  seven  ! 


C  H  AFTER    XII 


BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS. 


The  little  shop  prospered  ;  and,  before  two  years 
had  elapsed,  Mrs.  Walsingham  was  able  to  make 
some  improvements  in  her  domestic  establishment. 
There  was  a  well-qualified  maid  servant  in  the 
kitchen,  and  an  errand-boy  in  the  sliop  ;  and,  besides 
this,  she  was  able  to  give  constant  employment  to 
several  women  in  making  up  linen,  and  the  childrens' 
and  babies'  clothes,  for  which  her  shop  was  becom- 
ing much  celebrated.  The  little  concern  was  de- 
cidedly flourishing.  The  seven-and-thirty  pounds 
had  been  turned  over  and  over  and  over  again  ;  and, 
like  the  snow-ball  in  the  deep  snow,  it  grew  at  every 
turn.  Tlie  shop  shelves  and  drawers  were  full,  and 
every  corner  was  fitted  up  to  hold  boxes  and  cases 
of  goods.     The  place  bore  a  fanciful  resemblance  to 


BRIGHTER   PROSPECTS.  107 

a  nest,  which,  as  the  brood  becomes  full-fledged  and 
strong,  is  too  narrow  for  its  contents.  Mrs.  Wal- 
singham,  however,  was  unwilling  to  remove  from  a 
place  which  had  evidently  been  so  blessed  to  her  ; 
and  the  family  inconvenience  was  soon  remedied  by 
the  next  house  becoming  vacant ;  the  original  tene- 
ment was,  therefore,  converted  into  work-rooms, 
second  shop,  and  private  room;  and  the  fimiily  re- 
moved into  the  next,  to  which  internal  communica- 
tion was  made.  In  all  these  things  Mrs.  Walsing- 
ham  saw  the  visible  hand  of  Providence ;  and  she 
went  through  her  daily  duties,  her  daily  occupations, 
with  an  increasing  thankfulness  of  spirit. 

"  William,  you  are  nearly  fifteen,"  said  his  mother 
to  him  one  Sunday  evening,  as  the  whole  family  sat 
together  in  their  comfortable  parlor  ;  "  but  it  is  never 
too  late  for  you  to  learn,"  continued  she,  smiling — 
"  you  must  now  go  to  school." 

William  looked  quite  pleased,  so  did  his  sisters  ; 
and  Jack,  with  no  very  gentle  laugh,  exclaimed, 
"  Now,  brother,  you  need  not  envy  me." 

"  What  think  you  of  the  London  University  ?" 
asked  his  mother. 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,"  replied  he  ;  "  and, 
at  my  age,  it  sounds  better  to  go  to  the  Univer- 
sity than  to  school."     William,  however,    blushed 


108  BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS. 

as   he   said   this — half  suspecting  that  his  words 
were  foolish. 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  quite  sympathizing  with  her 
brother,  "  you  are  right ;  it  sounds  a  great  deal 
better." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  William,  "  do  you  think  I 
shall  seem  very  ignorant  at  first — as  if  I  had  been 
very  much  neglected — I  don't  mean  neglected 
either" — said  he,  again  correcting  himself,  in  the 
fear  that  his  words  implied  a  censure  on  his  mother; 
"  I  mean,  shall  I  seem  much  more  ignorant  than 
common  boys  of  my  age  ?" 

"  I  hope,  not  generally  ignorant,"  replied  his 
mother,  "  but,  probably,  deficient  in  much  elemen- 
tary knowledge." 

"  But,"  said  Mary,  "  you  will  understand  things 
so  much  better  than  younger  boys,  that  you  will 
soon  overcome  that  deficiency  ;  and  poor,  dear  father, 
you  know,  thought  you  read  Latin  very  well ;  and 
you  can  translate  with  great  ease :  you  know  some- 
thing  of  mathematics,  too  ;  and  you  have  been  pon- 
dering over  that  old  Encyclopaedia  that  Jack  bor- 
rowed for  us,  for  these  three  months.  There  must 
be  a  deal  of  knowledge  in  this  round  head  of  yours," 
said  she,  pushing  the  thick  locks  from  his  forehead  ; 
"  depend  upon  it,  you'll  be  a  first-rate  scholar !" 


BRIGHTER   PROSPECTS.  109 

"  And,  William,"  said  Jack,  with  a  countenance 
of  very  extraordinary  gravity,  "  if  you  wouldn't 
be  offended,  I  know  what  I  would  do,  I  would 
teach  you  grammar  rules,  and  geography,  and 
show  you  how  to  parse,  and  to  find  the  latitude  and 
longitude,  and  all  that  ;  and  I  would  hear  your 
spelling  lessons,  and  words  with  meanings,  and 
all !" 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Grace,  laughing,  "  you  are 
very  patronizing,  Jack."  But  Jack  neither  looked 
abashed  nor  vexed. 

"  Thank  you,  brother,"  said  William  ;  "  you  shall 
hear  me  those  lessons,  and  give  me  those  instruc- 
tions, for  it  is  just  what  I  want," 

"  There,  Mistress  Grace !"  said  Jack,  nodding 
at  her,  and  archly  glancing  out  of  the  corners  of  his 
laughing  black  eyes. 

This  happy  scheme,  the  first-fruits,  as  it  were,  of 
their  amended  fortunes,  furnished  the  fireside  topic 
for  many  days.  William  was  allowed  to  take  his 
Sunday  clothes  into  every-day  wear,  and  a  new  suit 
was  ordered  for  him ;  and  the  whole  of  the  next 
fortnight  he  spent  in  acquiring  elementary  knowledge, 
and  in  exhibiting  to  Jack,  every  leave-day,  the  pro- 
gress he  had  made. 

At  the  end  of  the  fortnight  the  new  term  com- 
menced.    William  kissed  his  mother  and  sisters, 


110  BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS. 

and,  with  a  joyful  heart,  ran  off  to  the  University  ; 
thinking  as  he  went,  that  it  was  a  great  deal 
pleasanter  to  be  going  to  school,  than  to  be  stand- 
ing behind  a  counter:  and  it  was  with  a  beating, 
but  jet  with  a  proud  heart,  that  he,  when  the 
school-roll  was  called  over,  answered  to  the  name  of 
Walsingham — "  adsum.^^ 

Mary,  as  we  said  before,  had  frequently  assisted 
her  mother  in  the  shop.  She  was  a  tall,  well-grown, 
and  remarkably  handsome  girl,  very  womanly  in 
appearance,  and  of  very  quiet,  elegant  manners.  Eve- 
ry-body  admired  her,  and  many  came  purposely  to 
look  at  her,  or  be  served  by  her. 

Mrs.  Walsingham  soon  became  aware  of  the 
circumstance,  and,  knowing  how  dangerous  such 
admiration  might  be  to  her  daughter,  determined  im- 
mediately to  remove  her  from  it. 

"  Do  not  ask  Grace  to  serve  in  the  shop,  dearest 
mother,"  said  Mary,  as  the  three  were  talking  family 
affairs  over. 

"  Oh  do  not,  mother !"  exclaimed  Grace,  with 
nervous  excitement — "  I  never  could  do  it.  I  will 
net  purses,  do  worsted-work,  work  salin-stitch,  open- 
hem,  embroider,  braid,  design  patterns — or  do  any 
thing  except  serve  in  the  shop." 

"  You  shall  never  be  asked  to  do  it,  my  love,"  said 
her  mother.     And  the  grateful  girl  touched  by  what 


BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS.  Ill 

she  thought  another  proof  of  her  mother's  kindnes'^ 
sat  down  with  redoubk^d  industry,  to  the  beautiful 
work  in  which  she  excelled. 

A  few  days  after,  Mrs.  Spenser,  who  from  the  first 
had  remained  Mrs.  Walsingham's  firm  frietui,  came 
in,  and  asked  to  have  some  private  conversation  with 
her*  She  wished  to  know,  she  said,  if  she  intended 
her  eldest  daughter  to  remain  in  the  shop.  No,  she 
was  not  likely  to  be  in  it  again,  Mrs.  Walsingham 
repHed.  Mrs.  Spenser  was  very  glad.  Had  she  any 
decided  plans  for  her  daughter  ?  Not  for  the  present ; 
the  removing  her  from  the  shop  was  only  a  late 
determination. 

"  Will  your  daughter  spend  this  evening  with 
me  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Spenser,  after  a  moment's  pause  ; 
"I  shall  be  quite  alone."  Mrs.  Walsingham  was 
quite  sure  it  would  give  her  daughter  great  pleasure; 
and  at  six  o'clock,  accordingly — for  she  was  to  go 
very  early — Mary,  dressed  in  her  very  best — in  her 
new  dark-blue  silk  frock,  the  most  expensive  dress 
she  had  ever  had — set  out  for  Russell  Square.  It 
was  with  some  little  excitement  of  spirit  that  she 
set  out  ;  for  an  invitation,  even  to  lea,  in  those  days 
was  a  very  great  event.  As  Mary,  in  her  unorna- 
mented  dress,  with  her  rich,  abundant,  dark  hair 
plainly  braided,  and  her  calm,  self-possessed  demean- 
or, entered  the  spacious  and   handsomely  furnished 


112  BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS. 

drawing-room,  Mrs.  Spenser  thought  she  had  sel- 
dom^ seen  a  more  prepossessing  girl.  Mary  Wal- 
singham  was,  in  fact,  the  very  counterpart  of  her 
mother  in  her  younger  days  :  but  of  that  Mrs.  Spenser 
knew  nothing. 

Mary,  although  she  looked  calm,  did  not  feel 
quite  so.  She  had  hitherto  seen  Mrs.  Spenser  as 
the  kind  patron  of  themselves,  humble  trades-people  ; 
they  were  thankful,  grateful  to  her  ;  nay,  they  even 
loved  her  ;  but  they  had  never  ceased  to  feel  that 
she  was  rich  and  they  poor ;  that  she  was  placed 
infinitely  above  them  in  station,  and  that,  perhaps, 
any  sentiment  stronger  than  that  of  obligation,  might 
be  thought  impertinent ;  and  now,  here  was  she,  the 
very  girl  who  had  sold  her  cambric  handkerchiefs, 
and  even  things  as  humble  as  pins  and  knitiing- 
cotton,  sitting  on  the  same  sofa,  and  talking  unbon- 
netted  to  her,  face  to  face  !  This  feeling,  however, 
soon  passed  away  ;  and  Mary  forgot  that  Mrs. 
Spenser  was  so  much  richer,  was  so  much  higher  in 
station  than  themselves.  A  great  variety  of  topics 
was  conversed  upon,  and  Mary,  shrewd  as  she  was, 
never  suspected  that  Mrs.  Spenser  was  testing  her  in 
many  ways  ;  that  she  was  fathoming  her  general 
knowledge,  sounding  her  principles,  and  discovering 
her  sentiments  on  the  most  important  points.  Had 
Mary  known  this,  perhaps  she  might  not  have  passed 
through  the  ordeal  as  unexceptionably  as  she  did. 


BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS.  113 

"  And  now,  Miss  Walsingham,"  said  Mr  s. 
Spenser,  "  I  will  be  frank  wiih  you  :  I  was  not 
altogether  disinterested  when  I  requested  the  pleas- 
ure of  your  company.  I  had  an  object  in  view,  in 
which  my  own  interest  was  entirely  concerned. 
I  have  one  little  daughter."  Mary  said  she  had 
seen  her  very  often.  "  She  has  hitherto,"  continued 
Mrs.  Spenser,  "  had  only  a  daily  governess  ;  but 
we  wish  rather  for  a  resident  one — one  whose 
manners  and  principles  we  may  have  an  opportu- 
nity of  knowing  thoroughly.  You  are  young. 
Miss  Walsingham — younger  than  I  supposed — 
but  of  that  fault  you  would  mend  every  day,"  said 
she,  kindly. 

"  And  did  you  indeed  think  of  me,  as  Miss 
Spenser's  governess  ?"  asked  Mary,  scarcely  able 
to  keep  down  her  emotion. 

"I  have  thought  of  it  for  some  time,  my  dear 
girl,"  replied  Mrs.  Spenser,  "  but  I  sincerely  desire 
it  now." 

Mary  looked  at  Mrs.  Spenser  with  her  eyes  full 
of  tears,  but  she  could  not  speak. 

"  You  are  inexperienced  in  teaching,  perhaps," 
continued  Mrs.  Spenser ;  "  but  as  my  little 
daughter  is  not  yet  six  years  old,  not  much  book- 
learning  is  required.  You  shall  have  every  oppor- 
tunity of  improving  yourself." 
10 


114  BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS. 

Mary  expressed  her  gratitude  in  few,  but  efficient 
words. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Spenser,  "  society  owes 
much  to  a  woman  like  your  mother,  who  has  not 
only  passed  through  a  life  of  peculiar  trial  and 
hardship  unblemished,  but  who  has  set  an  example 
of  almost  every  virtue.  Your  mother,  my  dear, 
has  already  more  nobly  deserved  a  statue,  than 
many  a  hero ;  and  no  great  merit  is  due  to  such 
as  I,  who  only  do  a  little  to  make  her  path 
easier.'^ 

Mary  again  could  not  speak ;  and  the  moment 
after,  her  brother  William  was  announced,  who,  as 
had  been  arranged,  was  come  to  fetch  her  home. 

That  was  a  joyful  going  home  ;  and  the  happy, 
thankful  family  remained  round  the  fire  after 
midnight — there  was  so  much  to  be  said,  and  so 
much  to  be  arranged. 

"It  is  a  pleasant  thing,"  said  Grace,  "to  build 
castles  in  the  air,  but  a  far  pleasanter  thing  to  find 
real  castles  built,  and  ready  furnished  for  you,  as 
you  have  done  to-night,  Mary.  I  am  sure  I  am 
very  glad,  for  you  quite  deserve  it,  and  you  will 
fulfill  all  Mrs.  Spenser's  expectations." 

"  1  hope  so,"  replied  Mary. 

"  You  toill,^^  returned  Grace :  "  only  think  how 
well  you  do  everything,  how  thoroughly  you  succeed 


BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS.  115 

in  all  your  attempts,  and  how  much  you  know  ;  yet 
you  never  seemed  to  be  learning — you  had  no  time 
for  it !  But,  after  all,  mother,"  continued  Grace, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Walsingham,  "  I  am  glad  Mrs. 
Spenser  did  not  fix  upon  me  ;  I  could  never  have 
fulfilled  her  expectations." 

"  And  for  that  very  reason,  my  dear,"  replied  her 
mother,  "  Mrs.  Spenser  would  not  have  fixed  on  j^ou 
for  such  an  office." 

"  Ah,"  said  Grace,  sorrowfully,  "  I  shall  always  be 
the  least  useful  one  of  the  family !" 

"You  undervalue  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  her 
mother. 

"  Think  of  all  that  exquisite  work  which  you  have 
done,"  said  Mary. 

"  Of  all  those  purses  and  bags,  and  bead-work, 
and  embroidery,  and  braiding,"  added  William, 
each  anxious  to  raise  poor  Grace  in  her  own  esti- 
mation. Grace  made  no  answer  ;  but  she  sighed, 
well  knowing,  though  she  would  not  confess  it, 
that  every  kind  of  work  which  had  been  enume- 
rated as  among  her  good  gifts,  had  long  since 
been  distasteful  to  her  ;  and,  so  that  she  might 
have  studied  Italian  and  our  best  English  poetry 
and  literature,  and  employed  herself  in  drawing, 
she  would  contentedly  have  lived  on  bread  and 
water. 


116  BRIGHTER  PROSPECTS. 

Mary  was  soon  happily  established  in  her  new 
home,  and  twelve  months  more  went  on  prosper- 
ously with  the  widow  and  her  family.  William 
had  lost  his  thin,  pale-faced,  anxious  look,  which, 
in  fact,  had  only  been  the  consequence  of  an 
over-tasked  mind  and  an  extremely  anxious  spirit. 
He  had  become  ten  times  more  studious  than 
ever,  and  was  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long. 
He  advanced  rapidly  in  his  classes,  and  brought 
home,  at  the  close  of  each  term,  the  highest  cre- 
dentials of  merit.  Mr.  Spenser  took  the  warmest 
and  most  friendly  interest  in  him ;  and,  when  he 
had  been  rather  more  than  two  years  at  school — on 
his  seventeenth  birth-day,  in  fact — he  was  admitted 
as  junior  clerk  in  Mr.  Spenser's  counting-house  ; 
an  event  which  filled  the  widow's  heart  and  house 
with  gladness. 

We  must  now  go  back  a  year  and  a  half  at  least, 
and  return  to  Grace,  who  henceforth  will  be  the 
principal  character  in  our  little  history. 


117 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


SECRET  SCHEMES. 


As  Mrs.  Walsingham's  circumstances  improved, 
she  became  anxious  that  Grace,  who  seemed  the 
only  one  unbenefited  by  them,  should  share  some 
of  their  advantages  as  well  as  the  other  members 
of  the  family.  But  Grace,  in  many  respects,  was 
peculiar  ;  she  was  a  being  extraordinarily  gifted, 
and,  under  prosperous  circumstances,  would  have 
been  the  flattered,  courted,  and,  probably,  the 
spoiled  child  of  genius  ;  her  character,  too,  would 
have  been  transparent  as  water  ;  but,  chilled  as 
she  had  insensibly  been  by  early  poverty,  by  wit- 
nessing the  privations,  and,  often,  the  concealed 
suffering  of  those  most  dear  to  her,  she  had  learned 
to  veil  her  own  feelings,  and  even  while  indulging 
an  almost  morbid  sensitiveness  of  spirit,  wearing 
outwardly  an  appearance  of  coldness  and  reserve. 
Her  father,  had  he  lived,  would  perfectly  have 
understood  her,  but  he  would  have  been  far  from  the 
best  guide  for  a  being  so  constituted.  Grace,  though 
10* 


118  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

she  had  neither  fear  nor  distrust  of  her  mother, 
dreaded  so  much  the  adding  to  her  difficulties,  or  the 
receiving  an  over  proportion  of  indulgence  or  con- 
sideration from  her,  that  she  never  made  her  her 
confidant ;  and  although  she  loved  her  elder  brother 
and  sister,  and  had  the  most  profound  respect  for 
them,  yet  they  were  never  admitted  to  her  most 
secret  feelings.  It  was  Jack — the  gay,  volatile, 
light-hearted  Jack,  two  years  her  junior — that  was 
the  closest  intimate  of  her  heart.  Two  beings 
more  dissimilar  could  hardly  be  conceived  ;  Grace, 
slender,  and  of  a  marble  paleness,  with  soft  brown 
hair,  straight  and  glossy  as  silk,  and  limbs  of  the 
most  delicate  mould — all  ideality,  and  filled  with 
notions  of  beauty  and  perfection  ;  Jack,  strong  built, 
strong-featured,  and  rough-headed  ;  a  bold,  free- 
spoken  youth,  that  seemed  to  laugh  all  sentiment  to 
scorn,  and  from  whom  it  might  have  been  thought 
no  tender  sympathies  could  ever  have  been  extracted. 
It  was  by  him,  and  him  only,  that  Grace  was  thor- 
oughly known,  and  to  him  only  that  she  freely  opened 
her  heart. 

When  Mrs.  Walsingham  proposed  that  Grace 
should  have  the  advantage  of  school,  she  at  once 
shrunk  from  it.  "  No,  mother,"  said  she,  "  I  am  too 
old,  too  tall  to  go  to  school." 


SECRET  SCHEMES.  119 

"  You  thought  difterently  in  William's  case,  my 
love,"  argued  her  mother. 

"  William  was  very  different  to  me,"  she  replied  ; 
"  I  could  not  bear — indeed,  mother,  I  could  not — the 
way  in  which  I  should  be  treated  at  a  first-rate 
school;  and  I  had  better  be  at  home,"  she  added, 
timidly,  "  than  go  to  an  inferior  one." 

Her  mother  quite  agreed  in  that  opinion. 

"  Do  you  not  know,  mother,"  asked  Grace,  half 
reluctantly,  "  the  ungenerous  feeling,  the  want  of 
sympathy,  there  is  among  women  generally,  and 
among  girls,  too,  I  suppose  ?  T  mean,  that  those 
who  fancy  themselves  richer  and  greater,  despise 
those  they  think  below  them — such  as  ourselves," 
said  she,  with  a  faltering  voice. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  replied  her  mother,  "  while  we 
preserve  our  own  self-respect,  we  are  almost  inde- 
pendent of  the  opinions  of  others." 

"  That  must  depend,  in  great  measure,  on  our 
own  natures,"  said  Grace.  "  I  could  not  bear  all 
you  do,  dearest  mother,"  continued  she,  "  from  peoplfe 
considering  themselves  perfect  ladies  ;  they  are  so 
imperious  often — so  little  considerate  of  your  feel- 
ings ;  and  if  ladies  behave  thus  to  you,  mother, 
whom  every  body  respects,  and  whose  real  goodness 
every  body  acknowledges,  how  is  it  likely  that 
ignorant  girls,  full  of  their  own  importance,  and  with 


120  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

all  their  educated  notions  of  wealth  and  station, 
would  behave  even  civilly  to  me,  a  stranger,  who 
would  be  known  to  them  only  as  a  shopkeeper's 
daughter  ?" 

"  There  may  be  some  truth  in  what  you  say, 
my  dear  girl,"  returned  her  mother,  "  but  you  want 
charity  ;  your  censures  are  far  too  sweeping  ;  you 
forget  the  kind  friends  we  have  found — you  forget 
Dr.  Elliott  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spenser." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  returned  Grace,  "  but  those 
are  the  exceptions.  Were  the  world  made  up  of 
Dr.  Elliotts  and  Mrs.  Spensers,  we  should  hardly 
wish  to  go  to  heaven  :  but,  dearest  mother,  as  to 
my  going  to  school,  do  not  think  of  it.  I  have 
plenty  of  time  at  home  for  the  few  studies  1  care 
about." 

*'  You  shall  have  lessons  in  French  and  Italian," 
returned  her  mother,  "  from  good  Mr.  Hamilton, 
and  you  shall  have  a  little  time  also  for  your  own 
reading.  It  is  but  fair  that  you  should  reap  some 
advantage  from  our  amended  circumstances,  partic- 
ularly when  you  have  done  your  part  towards  their 
amendment." 

Grace  kissed  her  mother's  cheek,  and  thanked  her 
again  and  again  for  her  kindness. 

"  Well,  but,  Grace,"  said  .Tack,  one  fine  evening 
during  the  midsummer  holidays,  as  they  were  walk- 


SECRET  SCHEMES.  121 

ing  in  the  Regent's  Park  together,  "  you  are  low- 
spirited — you  ought  to  think  better  of  yourself. 
There's  nothing  like  having  a  good  conceit  of  our- 
selves— I  soon  found  that  out." 

"  But  you  don't  at  all  understand,"  said  Grace  ; 
"  I  only  say,  that  many  things  make  me  low- 
spirited,  that  others  would  not  mind  about  at  all. 
Now,  you  know,  I  ought  to  help  mother — and  I 
will.  But,  oh  Jack,  you  don't  know  how  I  loathe 
that  trumpery  satin-stitch  and  embroidery,  and  how 
often  I  feel  to  despise  women,  because  they  think 
so  much  about  dress.  I  wear  nothing  but  these 
plain  cambric  collars  myself,  because  I  hate  those 
worked  ones." 

"  But,"  replied  her  brother,  "  you  admire  every 
pretty  pattern,  and  every  thing  that  is  elegant  and 
graceful ;  and  every  body  says  there  never  was 
such  beautiful  work  as  yours.  Didn't  mother  say, 
this  very  morning,  that  there  was  another  order  for 
another  dozen  of  babies'  caps  ?" 

"  Yes,  brother,"  said  Grace,  "  and  I  could  not 
eat  another  morsel  after  I  had  heard  it.  I  some- 
times think  that  I  will  leave  off  inventing  pat- 
terns ;  but,  then,  it  would  be  wicked  not  to  help 
mother  to  the  utmost ;  and,  now  William's  at  the 
University,  and  Margaret  is  going  to  school,  and 
now  I   take  French  and   Italian   lessons,  I   know 


122  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

that  I  ought  to  work  even  harder  thqn  ever.  I 
declare,  Jack,"  said  she,  weeping,  "  I  often  pray 
that  God  would  enable  me  to  do  my  duty  cheer- 
fully, for  it  is  the  doing  it  cheerfully  that  is  the 
great  thing,  after  all !" 

"I  wish  1  could  help  you  in  some  way,"  said 
Jack. 

"  You  do  help  me,"  was  her  reply ;  "  for  it  is 
the  greatest  comfort  I  have  to  take  these  pleasant 
evening  walks  with  you,  now  you  are  at  home 
every  day,  and  to  open  my  whole  heart  to 
you." 

"  Grace,"  commenced  Jack,  cheerfully,  as  if  a 
new  set  of  ideas  had  taken  possession  of  his  mind, 
"  if  you  might  have  just  what  you  liked,  and  be 
just  what  you  liked,  what  would  you  be  ?  Very 
rich,  I  suppose,  wouldn't  you  ?  and  have  a  grand 
house,  somewhere  in  a  grand  park,  with  plenty  of 
deer ;  and  servants,  and  carriages,  and  horses  ; 
and  pictures,  and  statues,  and  a  deal  of  music  ; 
and  fine  folks  to  visit  you  ?  Would  that  please 
you?" 

"  Not  quite,  I  think,"  returned  Grace,  "  though  T 
should  like  the  grand  house  and  the  pictures,  and 
statues  and  music,  and  books,  Jack,  which  you  have 
forgotten." 


SECRET  SCHEMES.  123 

"You  wouldn't  do  any  more  satin-stitch  or 
embroidery,  I  guess  ?"  said  Jack. 

"  No "  replied  Grace,  "  I  would  forbid  any- 
body ever  to  mention  the  words  before  me ;  and  I 
don't  think  I  should  ever  touch  a  needle  again  as 
long  as  I  lived." 

"You  would  do  famously,"  said  Jack,  "in 
that  island  where  ready-made  shirts,  with  buttons 
and  button-holes,  plaited  frills  and  all,  grow  upon 
the  trees  !" 

"  I  should  be  a  very  princess  there,"  replied 
Grace,  "  and  I  would  do  nothing  then  but  read  and 
draw.  And,  by  the  bye,  did  I  show  you  my  little 
etching  on  copper  ?" 

"  It  has  turned  out  well,  has  it  ?"  asked  Jack. 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Grace,  "  for  a  first  attempt ; 
I  should  never  despair  of  quite  succeeding,  if  I  had 
only  time.  How  useful  that  Encyclopaedia  has 
been  to  us." 

"  And  yet  it  was  the  satin-stitch  that  helped  you 
to  buy  it,"  said  Jack. 

"  I  have  a  notion,"  said  Grace,  without  noticing 
her  brother's  observation,  "  that  if  I  had  only 
the  time  to  practice,  I  should  succeed  very  well ; 
but  I  should  prefer  wood-engraving — I  understand 
it  so  entirely :  and  my  attempt  was  really  not 
despicable." 


124  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  "  1  think  it  was  capital." 

"  But,  you  know,"  continued  Grace,  "  I  should 
never  be  satisfied  to  devote  as  much  time  as  would 
be  needful  to  any  art  of  this  kind,  while  mother  had 
to  struggle  with  difficulties." 

"  And  yet  I  think,"  said  her  brother,  "  if  she 
only  knew  how  you  hated  this  stitch,  stitch,  stitch- 
ing, she  would  not  object  to  your  giving  it  up  ; 
and,  in  the  end,  you  might  get  a  deal  of  money  by 
engraving.  I  know  two  boys,  whose  father  is  an 
engraver,  and  they  walk  the  streets  with  a  livery- 
servant  after  them." 

"  But,"  said  Grace,  "  it  is  not  common  for  women 
to  be  engravers." 

"  Fiddlestick-end !"  said  Jack,  "  if  that's  all  the 
objection." 

"  Not  quite  all,"  replied  Grace  ;  "  but  mother 
might  think  it  a  wild  experiment,  and,  perhaps, 
think  me  unkind,  in  not  helping  her  still  in  the 
way  that  seems  most  natural ;  and  I  heard  her 
say,  this  very  morning,  what  advantage  it  would 
be  to  her  to  keep  lace  of  the  most  expensive 
kinds,  and  in  greater  variety  ;  and  that  she  had 
lost  one  of  her  best  customers,  because  she  could 
not  supply  her  with  such  lace,  but  that  she  should 
not  think  it  right  to  keep  it  at  present,  because 
she  had  not  sufficient  capital.     Now,  if  I  were  to 


SECRET  SCHEMES.  125 

leave  off  doing  that  fine  work,  mother  must  hire 
others  to  do  it,  which  would  lessen  her  profits, 
and  I,  the  while,  should  be  making  continual 
demands  upon  her.  If  I  had  only  any  little  way 
of  gaining  money  independently  of  the  fine  work, 
that  I  would  lay  out  for  myself,  and  then  I  would 
design,  and  etch,  and  engrave  to  my  hearths 
content," 

"  I  wish  you  could,"  Said  Jack  ;  and  these  few 
emphatic  words  brought  them  again  to  their  own 
door. 

"  I  want  you  to  have  a  walk  with  me,  Grace," 
said  Jack,  on  his  first  leave-day,  about  a  week 
after  the  holidays  were  closed.  Grace  was  sitting 
at  her  work-table,  busied  over  the  last  baby's  cap 
of  the  dozen  which  had  been  ordered.  "  I'll  put 
all  these  things  by  for  you,  for  I'm  in  a  prodigious 
hurry  ;  I  want  to  have  some  particular  conversation 
with  you." 

Grace  was  very  quick,  for  she  longed  to  be  out 
in  the  fresh  air ;  and  she  was  curious,  besides, 
to  know  what  important  topic  Jack  had  in  his 
mind. 

He  linked  his  ungloved  hand  into  her  arm,  and 

the  moment  they  had  left  the  door  he  began :   "  I 

really  have  found  something  that   you  can  do,  and 

get   a  deal  of  money   by,  too — something  quite  in 

11 


126  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

your  own  way ;  and  you  may  go  on  with  the  fine 
work  at  the  same  time,  and  nobody  else  know  any 
thing  about  it  at  present,  but  you  and  me  ;  and  then, 
if  it  doesn't  succeed — but  it  will  succeed,  and  so  I 
won't  fancy  any  thing  else." 

"  But  what  is  it,  dear  brother  ?"  interrupted 
Grace. 

"You  know  all  about  calico-printing,"  said 
Jack  ;  "  printing  ladies'  dresses — those  beautiful 
muslins." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  replied 
Grace. 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  he ;  "  you  know  that  those 
beautiful  patterns  are  all  drawn  first  upon  paper ; 
and  very  clever  people — sometimes  artists — design 
them,  and  a  great  deal  of  money  is  often  paid  for 
first-rate  patterns,  and  many  people  get  their 
living  by  doing  nothing  else  but  designing  and 
drawing  patterns." 

"  And  you  think  I  could  design  and  draw  thera  ?" 
asked  Grace. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  he  replied  ;  "  you  cohIu  do  it 
beautifully — I  should  not  wonder  if  you  got  twenty 
guineas  for  one  design." 

"  Impossible  !"  said  Grace  ;  "  twenty  guineas 
can  never  be  given  for  a  single  pattern." 


SECRET  SCHEMES.  127 

"  But  it  is  !"  said  Jack.  "  Now,  I  know  a  boy, 
his  name  is  Ferrand,  and  his  father  does  nothing 
else  but  design  patterns.  He  lives  at  Mr.  Aukland's 
print-works.  I  have  been  often  at  his  house,  for 
Dick  and  I  are  rather  cronies  ;  and  I  have  been  all 
over  the  printing-works,  and  I  understand  exactly 
how  every  thing  is  done." 

"  But  in  what  kind  of  way  are  these  patterns 
drawn?"  asked  Grace. 

"  Very  nicely  drawn,  and  colored  exactly  ; — but, 
dear  me,"  said  Jack,  interrupting  himself,  "  I've 
three  or  four  in  my  pocket  that  I  begged,  for  I 
thought  of  you  directly." 

"  You  are  a  dear,  kind  creature,'^  said  Grace. 

Jack  produced  the  patterns.  "  You  see,"  said 
he,  "  they  are  made  to  look  exactly  as  they  are 
meant  to  be;  but  these  are  nothing  extraordi- 
nary— quite  common  things,  that  they  set  no 
store  by." 

"The  patterns  are  nothing,"  said  Grace,  "but 
they  are  all  I  need." 

"  Mr.  Ferrand  said,"  continued  Jack,  "  that  they 
were  always  wanting  new  patterns,  and  that  they 
would  give  any  money  for  something  very  original 
for  next  spring,  because  printed  muslins  were  to  be 
all  the  rage.  I  told  him  I  knew  a  young  person — 1 
didn't  say  lady — that   would  do  him    some   better 


128  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

things  than  he  had  ever  seen,  and  that  I  would 
bring  him  some.  He  seemed  very  much  pleased, 
and  asked  me  to  have  some  brandy-and-water  with 
him." 

"  But  you  did  not,  I  hope,"  interrupted  Grace, 
"  No,   I   didn't   drink  any,"  said   Jack,   "  I   only 
sipped   at  the  glass  ;    and  he   told   me  he  used  to 
design  a   great  many  himself,  but  that  of  late  his 
hand  had  been  out. " 

Grace  thanked  her  brother  sincerely,  and  promised 
that  she  would  try  what  she  could  do.  The  next 
morning  she  was  up  early,  and,  instead  of  either 
reading  Italian  or  French,  as  had  been  her  custom, 
sat  down  to  catch  and  realize,  if  she  could,  some  of 
the  phantom  designs  which  had  floated  through  her 
brain,  even  in  her  dreams.  It  was  several  days 
before  she  produced  any  thing  that  at  all  satisfied 
herself;  but  after  that  time  she  began  to  design 
rapidly,  one  combination  suggesting  another  entirely 
different.  Some  were  formal  Chinese-like  things,  all 
angles  and  interlacings — a  gorgeous  mass  of  color ; 
others,  light  floating  sprays  and  blossoms,  like  gos- 
samer threads  and  nodding  flowers,  heavy  with  dew. 
She  grew  delighted  with  her  own  work,  and,  full 
of  confidence,  went  on  with  amazing  success. 
There  was  one  particular  pattern,  however, 
which  she  considered  worth  all  the  rest,  for  its  ori- 
ginality of  design,  and  bold,  yet  faultless,  coloring. 


6ECRET  SCHEMES.  1^9 

She  tried  again  and  again,  but  to  her  judgment  could 
produce  nothing  at  all  equal  to  it.  She  called  it  the 
acanthus-pattern,  because  the  first  idea  was  sug- 
gested, though  she  hardly  knew  how,  by  an  acan- 
thus-leaf upon  a  Grecian  capital,  among  the  marbles 
of  the  British  Museum,  and  that  particular  leaf, 
most  accurately  sketched,  continued  in  the  design. 
Jack  was  with  her  at  the  time  she  sketched  the  leaf; 
and  one  little  fact  connected  with  that  circumstance 
made  it  memorable.     But  more  of  that  in  its  place. 

Twelve  of  Grace's  best  designs,  and  the  acan- 
thus-pattern, of  course,  among  them,  were  carried 
by  Jack,  on  his  next  holiday,  to  Mr.  Ferrand,  who 
in  the  interim  had,  through  his  son,  reminded  him 
of  his  promise. 

"  Now  I  have  brought  you  some  thing,"  said  he, 
opening  the  little  portfolio,  in  which  Grace  had 
carefully  laid  the  designs  ;  "  you  never  saw  such  as 
these,  Mr.  Ferrand." 

Jack  arranged  them  on  the  table,  as  he  thought, 
most  advantageously.  "  What  do  you  say  to  them, 
Mr.  Ferrand  ?"  asked  he,  as  that  person  delayed 
to  give  an  opinion,  though  he  could  not  conceal 
his  surprise. 

"  I  say,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  seen  worse,  and  I 
may  have  seen  better ;  but  all  depends  upon  trial," 
added  he,  gathering  them  up. 


130  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

"  But,  Stop,"  said  Jack,  seizing  the  acanthus,  "  is 
not  that  a  beauty  ?" 

"It's  not  an  ugly  thing,"  replied  Mr.  Ferrand, 
coolly. 

"  What  may  such  a  design  as  that  be  worth  ?" 
asked  Jack. 

"  A  nnatter  of  ten  or  fifteen  shillings,"  said  the 
other. 

"  Ten  or  fifteen  shillings !"  replied  Jack ; 
*'why,  Mr.  Ferrand,  there  is  not  such  a  design 
as  that  in  all  Mr.  Aukland's  works ;  and  you 
said  you  would  give  any  money  for  some  original 
designs." 

"Pho!  Pho!"  said  Mr.  Ferrand;  ''but  come 
here's  two  sovereigns  for  you,  for  the  whole  batch 
of  them  ;  and  I  can't  stand  argufying,"  added  he, 
taking  up  his  hat,  and  dropping  the  designs  very 
deliberately  into  his  pocket. 

"The  designs  are  not  mine,"  said  Jack,  think- 
ing Mr.  Ferrand  meant  to  be  dishonest,  "  and  I 
brought  them  neither  to  give,  nor  yet  to  sell,  at 
this  rate !" 

"Pocket  your  two  sovereigns,  and  be  off  with 
you,"  said  Ferrand,  growing  red  in  the  face. 

"You  are  not  behaving  at  all  like  a  gentleman," 
said  Jack,  doggedly,  but  without  touching  the 
money. 


SECRET  SCHEMES.  131 

"  Will  you  take  these,  and  be  off  with  you  ?" 
said  the  other,  again  putting  the  sovereigns  to- 
wards him. 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  "  but  I'll  have  the  designs  back 
again." 

"  Will  you  ?"  exclaimed  Ferrand,  now  growing 
pale  with  passion  ;  "  we'll  see,  then  !"  and,  taking 
Jack  by  the  shoulders,  and  not  very  gently  either,  he 
turned  him  out  of  the  house. 

Poor  Jack  !  In  the  whole  course  of  his  life  he 
had  never  been  in  such  a  passion  as  he  was  then. 
"  He's  the  shabbiest  scoundrel  in  all  London,"  said 
he,  as,  in  the  very  childishness  of  his  rage,  he  flung 
a  stone  against  the  black  wooden  gates  within  which 
Mr.  Ferrand's  house  stood. 

"  And  what  shall  I  say  to  poor  Grace  ?"  thought 
he,  when  tlie  first  ebullition  of  his  anger  was  over  ; 
and,  from  having  walked  with  impetuous  speed, 
he  now  relaxed  into  a  saunter.  "  What  a  fine 
fellow  I  shall  seem  to  her,  after  all  the  swagger  I 
made  about  the  money  she  was  to  get,  and  which 
she  ought  to  have  got ;  for  there  never  were  such 
beautiful  designs  seen !  Pve  a  good  mind  to  go  to 
Mr.  Aukland  myself,"  said  he,  speaking  aloud,  in  the 
very  energy  of  his  perplexity,  "and  tell  him  all 
about  it ;  for  that  Ferrand  is  a  downright  shabby, 
swindling  fellow  !" 


133  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

"  Thy  language  is  somewhat  free  for  thy  years," 
said  a  cahn  voice  behind,  which  made  Jack  suddenly 
turn  round.  It  was  a  middle-aged  Quaker,  who,  in 
his  plain  brown  suit,  and  well-varnished  brown 
walking-cane,  was  leisurely  bending  his  steps  to- 
wards some  anti-slavery  or  Bible  meeting. 

"  And  no  wonder,  sir,"  said  Jack,  in  reply  to 
his  observation,  "  for  1  have  been  shamefully 
swindled." 

"  What  may  thy  case  be  ?"  asked  the  Friend. 

Jack  told  him  exactly,  and  about  the  acanthus- 
pattern  also,  and  concluded  by  saying,  that  "  Fer- 
rand  was  the  greatest  swindler  in  all  London." 

"  Thou  certainly  hast  not  been  well-used,"  replied 
the  Friend,  "  if  those  designs  of  which  thou  speakest 
are  worth  more  than  the  two  sovereigns." 

"They  are  worth  ten  times  the  money,  sir," 
said  Jack,  with  emphasis. 

"  See  the  man  again,"  said  the  Quaker,  "  and 
calmly  represent  to  him  the  injustice  of  his  con- 
duct ;  but  be  calm,  my  young  friend,"  said  he, 
laying  his  hand  kindly  on  Jack's  shoulder,  "  for 
anger  produces  nothing  but  evil  ;  and  if  he  still 
refuses  to  restore  thee  either  thy  property  or  its 
true  value,  thou  shouldst  see  John  Aukland,  this 
person's  emplo -er ;  he  is  an  upright  man,  and 
will  not  see  injustice  done  to  thee.     And,  further, 


SECRET  SCHEMES.  133 

I  advise  thee,"  said  the  Friend,  beginning  to 
quicken  his  pace,  "  to  moderate  thy  temper.  Go 
home  now,  and  tell  thy  sister  of  this  man's  un- 
fair conduct ;  and  if  she  be,  as  thou  sayest,  so 
excellent  and  so  amiable,  she  will  not  blame  thee. 
Farewell !" 

Jack  thought  there  was  good  sense  in  what  the 
Quaker  advised,  and,  accordingly,  calming  himself 
into  as  much  stocial  philosophy  as  he  was  capa- 
ble of,  he  related  to  Grace  the  end  of  this  grand 
scheme.  Grace  did  not  belie  tlie  character  which 
Jack  had  given  of  her,  /or  she  did  not  blame  him; 
on  the  contrary,  she  assumed  an  indifference  which 
she  did  not  feel,  and,  both  by  word  and  manner, 
did  all  in  her  power  to  reconcile  poor  Jack  to 
himself. 

In  a  week  or  two,  on  his  very  first  leave-day, 
he  went  again  to  Mr,  Ferrand,  and  inquired  after 
the  designs,  with  as  much  politeness  as  he  could 
possibly  assume.  Mr.  Ferrand  far  more  than 
equalled  him  in  civility  ;  he  apologized  for  his 
former  rudeness  ;  he  was  sorry  he  had  used  vio- 
lence towards  him.  As  to  the  designs,  they  had 
turned  out  absolutely  nothing ;  there  was  no 
judging  of  a  design  in  paper ;  every  one  must  be 
tried  with  the  blocks  and  proper  dyes,  before  an 
opinion   could    be   formed   of  its  worth ;    not   one 


134  SECRET  SCHEMES. 

design  out  of  ten  worked  well  on  the  calico. 
Upon  his  honor,  he  assured  Jack,  that  not  one  of 
them  was  worth  a  i Tthing  ;  but  he  had  not  time 
then  to  spare.  Jack  was  confounded  by  his  civil 
wordiness,  but  he  did  not  believe  even  his  protesta- 
tions ;  before,  howc"er,  he  could  frame  an  answer, 
Mr.  Ferrand  was  gone. 

Outside  the  gate  was  a  gentleman  alighting  from 
his  phaeton.  "  Was  it  Mr.  Aukland  ;"  inquired 
Jack  ;  for  he  thouglit,  spite  of  Mr.  Ferrand's  polite 
protestations,  he  w  vjld  take  the  Quaker's  advice, 
and  relate  the  whole  affair  to  him.  "  Was  it,"  he 
asked,  "  Mr.  Aukland  ?"  The  answer  was  affirma- 
tive. The  moment  Jack  spoke  of  designs,  Mr. 
Aukland  referred  him  to  Mr.  Ferrand— he  was  the 
proper  person,  and  to  him  he  must  go.  "  But," — 
said  Jack.  "  These  are  matters  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with,"  interrupted  Mr.  Aukland,  impatiently  ;  "  I 
can  not  be  detained."  Mr.  Aukland  bustled  through 
the  black  gates,  the  groom  leisurely  drove  the 
phaeton  down  the  street,  and  Jack  walked  away 
more  discontented  than  ever. 


135 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


LA  BELLE  FLORA. 


As  month  after  month  rolled  on,  if  Grace  thought 
less  of  her  disappointed  hopes,  she  found  that  any 
chance  of  emancipation  from  the  needle  was  more 
distant  than  ever;  for  her  salin-stitch  and  em- 
broidery grew  more  in  demand  every  day.  Mrs. 
Walsingham  often  thought  Grace  was  too  closely 
confined,  and  she  devised  many  little  schemes  of 
pleasure,  many  little  excursions  into  the  country, 
to  diversify,  as  much  as  might  be,  the  monoto- 
nous life  of  her  daughter.  Several  young  women, 
it  is  true,  were  now  associated  rvith  Grace  in  her 
tasks  ;  but  as  she  had  no  talent  for  instructing 
others,  each  was  left  to  her  own  abilities,  and,  as 
might  be  expected,  not  one  equalled  her.  Mrs. 
Walsingham's  customers,  therefore,  soon  learned 
to  distinguish  her  work  froiii  Lh-'t  of  all  others  ; 
and,  had  poor  Grace,  like  the  goddess  of  the 
Ephesians,  been  gifted  with  six  hands  instead  of 
two,  she  might  fully  have  employed  them  all. 


136  LA-  BELLE  FLOHA. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Walsingham,"  said  that  same  Mrs. 
Aukland,  who,  in  the  early  days  of  the  little  shop, 
had  triumphantly  carried  off  the  damaged  doll  at 
less  than  its  prime  cost,  and  who  had  just  now 
alighted  from  her  carriage,  "  I  want  another  velvet 
dress  for  my  August!is,  embroidered  in  gold  thread." 
Mrs.  Walsingham  bowed  her  thanks. 

"  But  I  must  have  a  perfectly  original  design — 
some  thing  very  striking,  and  very  new,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  our  pleasing  you,"  replied 
Mrs.  Walsingham, 

"  The  last  dress  that  he  had,"  the  lady  continued, 
"  was  the  sweetest  thing  I  ever  saw  ;  many  gentle- 
men, artists,  noticed  it,  and  pronounced  the  style 
perfect." 

"  And  you  now  wish  for  some  thing  quite  unlike 
this  ?"    inquired  Mrs.  Walsingham. 

"  Of  a  style  quite  dissimilar,"  said  the  lady,  "for 
though  that  dress  is  still  as  good  as  new,  it  has 
been  so  imitated  by  every  body,  that  I  can  not  bear 
to  see  the  child  in  it.  It  is  so  very  impertinent  of 
people  to  imitate  one  I" 

Mrs.  Walsingham  suggested  that  it  might  be 
taken  as  a  compliment,  and  then  proceeded  to  lay 
several  of  Grace's  newest  designs  for  such  work 
before  her.     She  did  not  quite  approve  of  any  of 


LA  BELLE  FLORA.  137 

these  ;  she  wanted  some  thing  very  different — very 
striking  and  original.  ^'  And,  remember,  Mrs. 
Walsingham,"  said  she,  "  that  I  purchase  the 
pattern,  which  is  to  be  destroyed  the  moment  it  is 
done  with." 

It  was  then  agreed  that  fresh  patterns  were  to  be 
designed,  and  sent  by  post  for  her  choice.  Two 
guineas  were  to  be  paid  for  the  embroidering,  and 
two  also  for  the  pattern  ;  and  Mrs.  Walsingham 
was  to  furnish  the  velvet  and  gold  thread.  These 
important  preliminaries  being  thus  arranged,  the 
lady  passed  forth  to  her  splendid  carriage.  During 
Easter  week.  Jack  had  the  pleasure  of  morning 
strolls  through  the  streets  of  London,  with 
the  joyful  prospect  of  dining  at  home  each 
day.  Towards  noon,  however,  on  the  '^Thursday, 
he  came  in  with  a  very  hurried  air,  and 
begged  Grace  would  go  with  him  into  Regent 
Street,  for  that  he  had  some  thing  very  strange 
to  show  her.  Not  a  word  could  Grace  obtain 
from  her  brother,  as  to  the  object  of  their  walk  ; 
"  it  was  a  some  thing,"  he  said,  "  which  was 
worth  seeing." 

♦'  And  now,"  said  he,  "  as  he  suddenly  stopped 

before  a  fashionable   shop,  the  windows  of  which 

were   filled   with   dresses    of    the    newest    spring 

fashions,  "  what  do  you  see  there  ?"     Grace  made 

12 


138  LA  BELLE  FLORA. 

a  rapid  survey,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  start, 
exclaimed,  "  The  acanthus-pattern  !  and  how  beau- 
tiful it  is  !" 

"  And  what  a  false-hearted  scoundred  that  was  !" 
exclaimed  he,  losing  all  sense  of  the  beauty  of  the 
pattern  in  his  extreme  indignation. 

"It  must  be  my  own  design,"  said  Grace, 
thoughtfully,  "  for  no  one  else  would  conceive 
exactly  the  same  idea  !" 

"  It's  your  own,  and  nobody  else's,"  said 
Jack  ;  "  and  I'll  tell  you  why  :  don't  you  remember 
sketching  it  that  night  at  the  British  Museum — 
and  the  little  mouse's  face  in  the  middle  of  the 
acanthus  leaf  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  smiling,  "  and  there  it  is,  to 
be  sure  !" 

"  And  you  threw  that  scarlet  flower,  that  ecry- 
mocarpus  across  it,  and  I  declared  that  it  still  peeped 
through — and  so  it  does,  though  nobody  but  you  or 
I  would  find  it  out." 

"  Yes,"  said  Grace,  "  it  must  be  my  design." 

"  I'm  confident  it  is  !"  said  Jack  ;  "  but,  to  make 
assurance  sure,  I'll  go  in  and  ask  whose  print 
it  is." 

The  people  of  the  shop  were  not  busy  just 
then  ;  and  as  Jack  put  his  question  to  the  gentleman 
of  the  shop,  he   received  a  direct   and  very  civil 


LA  BELLE  FLORA. 


139 


answer.  It  was,  the  shop-keeper  said,  one  of  Auk- 
land's,  and  would  be,  he  expected,  the  most  fashion- 
able print  of  the  season.  It  was  called  la  belle 
Flora.  A  dress  of  it  had  already  been  worn  by  the 
Queen  ;  but  that  this  was  the  first  day  it  had  been 
shown  in  the  shops.  Jack  expressed  his  thanks, 
and  ran  out  to  communicate  what  he  had  heard 
to  his  sister. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  "  what  had  best  be  done  ? 
for  that  fellow  shall  not  have  the  credit  of  la  belle 
Flora  to  himself." 

"  We  must  tell  mother  all  about  it,"  replied  Grace, 
"  for  she  is  the  properest  person  to  give  us  good 
counsel.  But,  dear  me,  it  will  be  no  use  making 
any  disturbance  about  it,  for  we  shall  never  get  any 
good  by  it :  but  still  it  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  see 
that  I  have  succeeded  so  well,  and  that  the  very 
pattern  which  pleased  me  so  much,  is  likely  to  be  a 
general  favorite  !" 

"1  tell  you  what,"  said  Jack,  "if  there's  justice 
to  be  had  in  London,  we'll  have  it ! — and  don't 
you  be  chicken-hearted  now; — that's  the  fault 
every  body  blames  women  for,"  said  he,  half 
vexed.  Grace  laughed,  and  called  him  her  "  Cceur 
de  Lion." 

When  they  got  home,  they  found  their  mother 
closely  occupied  by  a  constant  succession  of  im- 


140  LA  BELLE  FLORA. 

portant  customers  ;  there  seemed  no  chance  of  them 
two  being  able  to  speak  a  word  with  her  before 
evening.  "  I'm  completely  out  of  patience,"  said 
Jack,  as  he  went  away  from  the  door  of  his 
mother's  room  ;  "  she/11  never  be  at  liberty  !"  At 
length,  however,  the  door  opened,  and  three 
ladies,  accompanied  by  his  mother,  came  out. 
Jack  stole  softly  into  the  shop  after  them,  intending 
to  secure  his  mother  the  moment  they  were  gone. 
But  the  lady  who  had  ordered  the  embroidered 
velvet  dress  was  alighting  from  her  own  carriage, 
and  had  entered  the  shop  before  Jack  had  spoken 
a  single  word.  "  I  shall  not  detain  you  many 
minutes,  Mrs.  Walsingham,"  said  the  lady  ;  "  and 
I  will  remain  here,  thank  you."  Jack  saw  in- 
stantly that  she  wore  a  dress  of  la  belle  Flora 
pattern,  and  he  stole  sofily  outside  the  counter,  to 
get  a  nearer  survey. 

"  You  like  these  designs,  T  hope,"  said  Mrs. 
Walsingham,  taking  them  from  the  lady's  hand. 

"  They  are  all  exquisite — the  sweetest  things  I 
ever  saw,"  replied  she  ;  "  but  this  is  my  choice." 

"It  is  ceriainly  very  striking,"  said  Mrs.  Wal- 
singham, "  and  will  produce  great  effect." 

"  I  can  not  think,"  said  the  lady,  "  how  you  get 
such  things  made  ;  and  then  the  work  itself  is  so 
perfect!     Do  you  employ  the  Jewesses  ?" 


LA  BELLE  FLORA.  141 

"  Frequently,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  these  designs 
are  made,  and  this  particular  work  is  done,  by  my 
daughter." 

"  Indeed !"  said  the  lady,  "  she  must  be  wonder- 
fully clever !" 

"That  she  is!"  exclaimed  Jack,  suddenly  pre- 
senting himself,  to  the  no  small  astonishment  of 
his  mother  and  the  lady ;  "  and  she  invented  the 
pattern  of  that  beautiful  print  which  you  are  wear- 
ing." 

"  Impossible  !"  said  the  lady,  half  laughing. 

"  But  indeed,  ma'am,  she  did,"  said  Jack,  not 
standing  on  ceremony,  even  M'ith  a  rich  lady — 
"  only  she  has  been  swindled  out  of  it !" 

"  You  are  a  most  impertinent  boy,"  returned  the 
lady,  "for  this  print,  which  is  the  most  fashionable 
print  of  the  season,  was  invented  by  a  French  gen- 
tleman, of  the  name  of  Du  Roc." 

*'  They  may"  say  so,"  returned  Jack,  steadily ; 
"  and  they  call  it,  I  know,  la  belle  Flora  ;  but  my 
own  sister  Grace  herself,  and  nobody  else,  designed 
it,  and  she  called  it  the  acanthus-pattern." 

"  This  is  very  extraordinary  behavior,  Mrs. 
Walsingharn,"  said  the  lady,  looking  very  much 
insulted.     "  Pray,  who  is  this  boy  ?" 

"  He  is  my  son,"  returned    Mrs.  Walsingharn  ; 
12* 


142  LA  BELLE  FLORA. 

"  and  the  facts  which  I  now  hear  are  quite  as  ex- 
traordinary to  myself  as  to  you." 

"The/ac^5/"  replied  the  lady — ^' the  falsehoods, 
Mrs.  VValsingham;  for  this  print  belongs  to  my 
husband,  Mr.  Aukland,  the  great  calico-printer; 
and  every  word  which  this  boy  has  spoken  is  a 
gross  falsehood !" 

"  I  trust  not,"  returned  Mrs.  Walsingham — "  at 
all  events,  not  wilfully  false.  But  how  is  this, 
John  ?"  said  she,  turning  to  him,  "  for  I  never 
heard  that  Grace  had  designed  any  patterns  for 
printing." 

"No,  mother,"  returned  he,  "you  never  did; 
nobody  ever  knew,  but  Grace  and  myself,  and  Mr. 
Ferrand,  and  some  old  Quaker  gentleman ;  but 
W'hom  1  do  not  know :  but  we  were  going  to  tell 
you  all  about  it  directly ;  for  they've  got  the  pat- 
tern printed,  as  you  see,  and  Grace  has  been 
swindled  out  of  it ;  and  now  they  give  it  a  fine 
French  name,  and  say  it  was  invented  by  a  French- 
man!" 

"There  must  be  some  mistake  about  it,  John," 
said  his  mother;  "  this,  most  likely,  is  not  the  pat- 
tern which  Grace  designed." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  mother,"  returned  he,  earnestly  ; 
"  for  I  know  the  pattern  as  well  as  if  I  had  drawn 
it  myself!" 


LA  BELLE  FLORA.  143 

"  Unless  some  apology  is  made  for  the  extreme 
impertinence  of  that  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Aukland,  "  I 
shall  not  again  enter  this  shop !" 

"  I  understand  the  whole  affair  so  imperfectly," 
replied  Mrs.  Walsingham,  with  great  composure, 
"  that  I  am  not  able  to  judge  if  he  be  really  as 
blameable  as  you  suppose." 

"  Every  word  he  has  uttered,"  returned  she,  "  is 
false !"  And  then  giving  orders  that  the  velvet 
dress  should  be  finished,  without  fail,  in  two  days, 
she  drove  off  in  extreme  indignation. 

Quite  unperceived  by  the  whole  party,  an  old 
gentleman  had  entered  the  shop  while  this  circum- 
stance occurred,  and  he  stood  a  quiet  listener  to 
the  conversation  that  passed.  He  was  a  stout 
old  gentleman,  with  a  merry  eye,  and  had  been  an 
early  and  constant  purchaser  of  Mrs.  Walsingham's 
nice  lamb's-wool  stockings.  The  moment  Mrs. 
Aukland  was  gone,  he  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of 
laughter,  and,  clapping  Jack  on  the  back,  called 
him  a  fine  fellow,  and  said  that,  like  John  Knox, 
he  was  not  afraid  of  the  fair  face  of  a  gentlewo- 
man. 

"  Sir,"  replied  Jack,  "  I  knew  I  was  right." 
"  That's  a  fine  spirit,"  said   the  old  gentleman  ; 
"  stand  up  for  the  right  as  bold  as  a  lion  !     But  I'll 
tell  you  what,  my  stout  fellow,  you've  got  into  a 


144  LA  BELLE  FLORA. 

hornet's  nest — this  Aukland  is  a  fiery  chap,  and 
his  lady  seems  a  bit  of  a  Tartar ;  but,  however, 
if  your  sister  really  did  invent  that  new-fashioned 
print,  that  all  the  world  is  going  mad  about,  she 
can  do  something  else  perhaps,  as  good." 

"  I  am  sure,  sir,  she  could,"  replied  Jack. 

"  Then  here's  my  hand,  my  fine  fellow ;  I'm  a 
sort  of  calico-printer  myself — that  is,  it's  in  the 
family — and  if  you'll  send  me  a  score  of  designs, 
only  half  as  good  as  this  fine  French  thing,  I'll  make 
it  worth  your  while." 

"  I'll  bring  them,  sir,"  said  Jack  ;  "  but  what's 
your  address?" 

"  Take  them  to  Wells  and  Wilson's,  the  calico- 
printers,  and  ask  for  Mr.  Matthew  Wilson,  any 
day  between  ten  and  two ;  I  live  at  the  next 
house,  and  I'll  see  you." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jack;  and,  running  up 
stairs  to  communicate  all  his  news  to  Grace,  he 
left  Mr.  Matthew  Wilson  and  his  mother  to  do 
their  business  about  the  lamb's-wool  stockings. 


145 


CHAPTER    XV. 

DIFFICULTIES. 

Mrs.  Aukland  soon  communicated  to  her  hus- 
band the  circumstance  which  had  occurred  in  Mrs. 
Walsingham's  shop,  and  how  this  most  insolent  of 
all  Blue-coat  School  boys  declared  his  sister  to 
have  invented  la  belle  Flora ;  and  that,  in  the  pub- 
lic shop,  before  she  knew  not  how  many  shop-wo- 
men and  customers,  he  insisted  that  his  sister  had 
been  swindled  out  of  it.  Mr.  Aukland,  as  Mr. 
Matthew  Wilson  had  said,  was  a  gentleman  of  a 
hot  temper,  and  he  instantly  inquired  who  had 
swindled  her  out  of  the  pattern.  "  Yourself,  of 
course,"  returned  his  wife.  "  The  varlet,"  muttered 
Mr.  Aukland,  and,  getting  up,  he  pulled  the  bell 
violently.  "  Bid  John  take  the  first  omnibus,"  said 
he  to  the  footman  who  answered  the  bell,  "  and  go 
and  tell  Mr.  Ferrand,  at  the  works,  to  come  up  to 
me  instantly.  Let  him  tell  Mr.  Ferrand  to  take  a 
cab,  and  lose  no  time." 

Mr.  Ferrand,  having  lost  no  more  time  than  was 
necessary  to  get  rid  of  the  fumes  of  the  brandy 


146  DIFFICULTIES. 

which  he  was  drinking  when  the  message  arrived, 
made  his  appearance.  "  What  a  monstrous  time 
you  are  in  getting  up  here,"  said  Mr.  Aukland,  who 
having  questioned  and  cross-questioned  his  wife, 
found  himself  in  an  ill  humor  with  every  body.  Mr. 
Ferrand,  with  alt  humility,  protested  that  he  had 
not  lost  a  moment,  and  that  he  had  even  paid 
an  extra  sixpence  to  the  cab  driver,  to  make 
speed. 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  design  of  la  belle 
Flora  ?"  asked  Mr.  Aukland.  Ferrand  was  con- 
founded at  the  abruptness  of  the  question ;  but, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  he  replied,  that  he  had  it 
from  one  Du  Roc,  who  lodged  at  Leicester  Square. 

•'  I  remember  you  said  so :  that  man  I  must  see," 
said  his  superior, 

"  Nothing  easier,  sir,"  replied  Ferrand,  suppos- 
ing that  Mr.  Aukland  was  thinking  of  fresh  de- 
signs. 

"  There  is  a  family  of  the  name  of  Walsingham : 
do  you  know  them  ?"  asked  Mr.  Aukland. 

Ferrand  felt  almost  as  if  a  thunderbolt  had 
struck  him  ;  and,  uncertain  how  much  his  employer 
knevvT  of  the  la  belle  Flora  affair,  he  dared  not  ven- 
ture upon  a  direct  answer.  "  Walsingham  ?"  said 
he,  as  if  considering  with  himself.  "  Yes,"  said 
Mr.  Aukland,  "  the  mother  keeps  a  haberdasher's 
shop,  or  something  of  that  kind. " 


DIFFICULTIES.  147 

The  tone  of  his  patron's  voice  reassured  Ferrand, 
and  he  fearlessly  replied,  "  I  know  now,  sir,  who 
you  mean.  One  of  the  boys  in  the  Blue-coat 
School." 

"  Have  you,  at  any  time,"  asked  Mr.  Aukland, 
"  received  any  designs  for  printed  muslins  from  that 
boy,  said  to  be  done  by  his  sister  ?" 

"Never!"  returned  Ferrand.  "That  boy  has 
had  old  designs  from  me  :  I  took  rather  a  fancy  to 
him  at  one  time,  and  he  used  to  come  a  good  deal 
about  the  place  ;  but  he  grew  so  impertinent  at 
last,  that  I  was  obliged  to  order  him  oft'  the  pre- 
mises. T  have  not  seen  him  there  since  that 
time." 

"  Stop,"  said  Mr.  Aukland,  putting  his  fore- 
finger to  his  temple,  "  don't  I  remember  a  Blue- 
coat  School  boy  stopping  me  at  the  gate,  to  ask 
something  about  designs  which  he  had  brought?" 

"  Which  he  wanted  to  beg,  sir,  far  more  likely,  if 
you  will  excuse  me  for  interrupting  you,"  said  Fer- 
rand, anxious  to  pervert  the  fact  in  his  patron's 
memory ;  "  to  heg,  I  will  be  bound  to  say,  for  he 
was  always  begging  patterns. " 

"  It  might  be  to  beg,"  said  Mr.  Aukland  ; — «  this 
boy,  however,  claims  now  the  invention  of  la  belle 
Flora  for  his  sister,  and  declares  publicly  that  she 
has  been  swindled  out  of  it  by  sonie  of  us." 


148  DIFFICULTIES. 

"I  would  be  sorry  to  injure  a  widow's  son," 
said  Ferrand  ;  "  but  that  boy  vvill  come  to  the  gal- 
lows if  he  does  not  mind  what  he  is  about :  but  as 
to  the  swindling,  sir,  of  course  he  means  that  for 
me ;  and,  if  you  will  give  me  leave,  I  will  take  the 
matter  into  my  own  hands.  I  will  see  the  boy  my- 
self, and  stop  his  mouth." 

"  I  will  thank  you  to  do  so,  Mr.  Ferrand,"  said 
his  employer:  "and  you  tell  his  mother  from  me, 
that  I  will  have  her  son  prosecuted  if  I  hear  of  his 
raentic  ning  another  word  on  the  subject !" 

"I  will,  sir,"  was  Mr.  Ferrand's  reply;  and, 
glad  to  escape,  but  yet  filled  with  apprehension,  he 
went  back  to  his  own  house. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Ferrand  went  to  the 
Blue-coat  School,  desiring  to  speak  with  Walsing- 
ham, 

"  Now,  my  good  fellow,"  began  he  in  a  tone  of 
friendly  reproof,  "  you  have  got  us  into  a  pretty 
scrape  about  that  design  of  your  sister's  !" 

"1?"  said  Jack. 

"  Yes,  you !  talking  about  swindling,  and  all  that 
nonsense,  as  if  one  did  not  mean  to  do  the  hand- 
some thing  by  you." 

"  Was  it  handsome,"  replied  Jack,  "  to  tell  me 
the  patterns  were  not  worth  a  farthing ,  and  then, 
when  that  famous  one  was  printed,  go  and  say  a 


DIFFICULTIES.  149 

Frenchman  had  done  it  ?     Was  that  handsome,  Mr. 
Ferrand?^' 

"  But  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Ferrand,  "  this  fa- 
mous la  belle  Flora  is  not  your  sister's  design :  I 
grant  you  it  was  taken  from  it." 

"It  is  the  very  same !"  asserted  Jack,  stoutly, 
twisting  his  shoulder  from  Ferrand's  hand  ;  "  I 
know  it  by  the  mouse's  face  !" 

"  By  the  what  ?"  asked  Ferrand. 

"  A  private  mark  we  set  upon  it,"  replied  Jack. 

"  A  private  fiddlestick  !"  returned  Ferrand :  "  but 
come,  I  know  you  are  a  lad  of  spirit ;  here  is 
five  pounds  for  you,  and  do  not  say  another  word 
about  it !" 

"  I  scorn  your  five  pounds  !"  said  Jack. 

"  Hark  ye,"  returned  Mr.  Ferrand,  not  a  little 
alarmed  at  Jack's  steadfastness,  "  It  will  be  worse 
for  you  if  you  refuse  my  offer.  I  stand  between 
you  and  Mr.  Aukland's  displeasure,  and  he  vows 
to  have  the  whole  strength  of  the  law  on  you  for 
defamation,  and  your  mother  must  pay  damages. 
It  will  be  the  ruin  of  her !" 

"  It  would  break  my  heart,"  said  Jack,  "  to  bring 
any  trouble  on  my  mother.  But  what  have  I  done, 
that  I  need  fear  Mr,  Aukland,  or  any  body  else  ? 
I  only  have  said  what  you  know  to  be  true  ;  and  I'll 
stick  to  it — that  I  will ! — and  I  won't  tako  your  five 
13 


150  DIFFICULTIES. 

pounds,"  added  he,  putting  both  his  hands  behind 
hill),  as  if  to  remove  them  from  the  temptation.  Mr. 
Ferrand  swore  a  fierce  oath  that  he  would  make 
him  repent,  and  that  he  would  be  the  ruin  of  them 
all;  and  then,  turning  out  of  the  court,  stalked 
swiftly  to  Leicester  Square. 

To  his  friend  Du  Roc  he  communicated  the  un- 
toward circumstance  which  had  occurred  ;  and  it 
was  agreed  that  Du  Roc  should  acknowledge  the 
idea  of  la  belle  Flora  to  have  been  derived  from  a 
design  of  Grace  Walsingham's,  and  that  a  pattern 
should  be  drawn,  having  some  resemblance  to  it, 
which  should  be  brought  forward  as  hers.  This 
was  accordingly  done.  The  paper  was  assidu- 
ously soiled  and  crumpled,  to  give  it  a  worn 
look ;  and  with  this  the  two  set  off  for  the  print- 
works. 

Ferrand,  with  a  sufRciently  unembarrassed  and 
honest  look,  told  his  patron  that  he  had  now  learned 
what  he  was  not  before  aware  of,  that  la  belle 
Flora  was  in  reality  originated  by  a  design  of  very 
moderate  merit,  made  by  this  Miss  Walsingham, 
which  he  supposed  her  brother  had  brought,  and 
which,  he  protested,  he  had  never  seen  ;  and  this, 
he  added,  explained  the  boy's  speaking  to  Mr. 
Aukland  on  the  subject  of  designs.  Du  Roc  then 
look  up  the  word,  and  said  that  this  design  had 


DIFFICULTIES.  151 

been  brought  by  young  Walsingham  one  day  when 
he  was  at  Ferrand's ;  and  that  he  had  carried  it 
home  with  him,  and  worked  out  la  belle  Flora  from 
it.  He  had  been  fortunate  enough,  he  said,  to  find 
it,  and  had  now  brought  it  with  him.  After  feeling 
first  in  one  pocket,  and  then  in  another,  as  if  un- 
certain where  he  had  put  a  thing  of  so  little  value, 
he  drew  it  forth. 

All  this  seemed  straight-forward,  and  perfectly 
probable,  and  Mr.  Aukland  professed  himself  satis- 
fied. He  then  desired  Ferrand  to  take  this  design 
to  Miss  Walsingham,  and  convince  her  of  her 
mistake.  "  And  since,"  added  he,  "the  idea  of  this 
successful  design  was  suggested  by  her,  I  am  not 
unwilling  to  give  her  five  or  ten  guineas  :  you  can 
arrange  it,  Mr.  Ferrand,  as  you  see  best ;  but  let 
her  family  perfectly  understand,  that  this  discharges 
all  obligation  on  my  part ;  and  that  I  will  pros- 
ecute any  one  who  couples  my  name  with  swind- 
ling !" 

So  far  Ferrand  thought  they  had  managed  admi- 
rably, and  taking  Du  Roc  with  him,  they  set  out 
for  Mrs.  Walsingham's.  Ferrand  felt  that  his  task 
here  was  much  more  difficult  than  with  Mr.  Auk- 
land ;  but,  as  it  was  no  use  standing  on  trifles, 
he  must  even  tell  the  falsehood  boldly,  and  stick 
to  it. 


152  DIFFICULTIES. 

"  You  are  under  a  strange  mistake  about  this 
printed  musiio,  Miss  Walsingham,"  said  he,  "  as  I 
am  sure  you  will  confess  in  a  moment.  Your  de- 
sign was  not  this  la  belle  Flora." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Ferrand,"  replied  Grace,  firmly,  "  it 
is  precisely  that  which  my  brother  took  you," 

"  With  your  permission,"  said  Du  Roc,  "  I  will 
show  you  your  own  ;  or,  if  it  is  not  your  own,  that, 
at  least,  which  gave  me  the  fortunate  idea  of  la 
belle  Flora ;"  and  he  presented  to  her  the  false 
design. 

"  That,"  said  Ferrand,  "  is  the  very  thing  your 
brother  brought  to  me.  I  would  swear  to  it  in  any 
court  in  England !" 

"  This  is  no  design  of  mine,"  said  Grace,  hand- 
ing it  to  her  mother,  with  a  look  that  expressed  her 
astonishment. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Mrs.  Walsingham,  after  she 
had  carefully  examined  it,  "  although  I  never  saw 
my  daughter's  design  for  the  printed  muslin,  I  am 
convinced  that  this  is  not  done  by  her.  There  is 
some  unjustifiable  attempt  here ;  for  it  is  not  even 
the  paper  we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  using. 

"  Do  ladies  always  use  the  same  paper?"  asked 
Du  Roc,  sarcastically :  "  might  not  this  be  the 
back  of  a  letter  ?"  Grace  said  that  her  finished  de- 
signs  were    never  made  on  the  backs  of   letters. 


DIFFICULTIES.  153 

Ferrand  grew  very  hot  and  uneasy,  and  declared 
that  he  would  swear  to  that  being  the  design  which 
young  Walsingham  had  brought. 

"  I  have  four  several  designs  of  this  pattern," 
said  Grace,  "  from  the  very  first  idea  to  its  finished 
state,  and  my  own  actual  knowledge  can  not  be  thus 
imposed  upon." 

"  Would  the  young  lady  permit  him  the  sight  of 
those  things  ?"  asked  Du  Roc.  Mrs.  Walsingham 
forbade  it.  "  She  was  convinced,''  she  said,  that 
her  daughter  was  the  sole  designer  of  the  pattern 
in  question,  which  had  been  printed  from  it,  un- 
altered ;  and  these  copies  should  only  be  produced 
at  a  proper  opportunity.  Ferrand  and  Du  Roc 
then  began  to  speak  together,  but  Ferrand  having 
the  louder  voice,  surpassed  the  other.  He  was  or- 
dered, he  said,  by  Mr.  Aukland,  to  forbid  any  of  the 
family  coming  near  the  place ;  but  still,  that  he 
was  commissioned  by  that  gentleman  to  offer  Miss 
Walsingham  five,  or  even  ten  guineas  for  the  idea 
which  had  been  worked  out  by  another ;  and 
that,  if  it  was  refused,  he  would  go  to  law  with 
them,  and  never  rest  till  he  had  their  last  shil- 
ling. 

Grace  turned  deadly  pale,  as  she  heard  the  angry 
man's  threat,  but  her  mother  was  unmoved.  She 
would  not  allow  her  daughter,  she  said,  to  receive 
13* 


154  DIFFICULTIES. 

the  money,  neither  did  she  believe  that  the  threat 
which  had  been  expressed  had  proceeded  from  Mr. 
Aukland. 

The  Walsinghams'  firmness  only  made  Ferrand 
more  desperate  ;  and,  knowing  that  every  thing  de- 
pended upon  his  maintaining  Du  Roc  to  be  the 
author  of  la  belle  Flora,  he  seized  an  early  oppor- 
tunity to  represent  his  case  as  forcibly  as  possible. 
The  Walsinghams,  he  said,  were  even  more  artful 
and  unprincipled  than  he  had  imagined,  for  that 
this  girl  now  actually  denied  that  to  be  her  sketch 
from  which  the  design  of  Du  Roc  was  made, 
although  it  was  the  very  thing  which  her  own  brother 
had  brought ;  that  not  a  word  which  they  said  could 
be  believed  ;  and  that  mother,  son,  and  daughter, 
were  all  alike.  They  had  refused  the  money,  he 
said,  no  doubt  with  the  intention  of  extorting  a 
larger  sum  ;  but  that,  if  he  might  presume  to  give 
advice,  they  should  not  have  a  farthing  now  ;  for 
that  he  and  Du  Roc  would  swear  to  la  belle  Flora 
in  any  court,  and  the  Walsinghams  could  not  bring 
forth  a  single  proof  of  llieir  right  to  it.  Ferrand's 
words  had  their  effect,  and  ]\Ir.  Aukland  bestowed 
upon  the  whole  Walsingham  family  the  epithet  of 
swindlers. 

Things  went  on  quietly  at  the  print-works   for 
about  a  week,   and  Ferr^ind  was  beginning  to  feel 


DIFFICULTIES.  155 

quite  at  his  ease  again  ;  in  the  meantime,  a  little 
circumstance  occurred  which  we  must  relate.  Mrs;. 
Aukland  had  a  large  evening  party,  at  which  Master 
Augustus  appeared  in  the  splendidly  embroidered 
dress  ;  but  it  is  not  of  that  we  would  particularly 
speak — only,  as  we  have  lost  sight  of  Grace's 
needle-work  for  several  pages,  we  would  just  let  our 
readers  know  that  the  poor  girl  had  been  busied  over 
this  same  dress  the  while. 

There  was  a  lady  among  the  company  wearing 
a  la  belle  Flora  muslin.  "  You  have  one  of  these 
exquisite  dresses  !"  said  another  to  her.  "  What 
a  sweet  thing  it  is  !"  said  a  third  ;  and  the  whole 
company  then  began  talking  of  la  belle  Flora. 

"  But  have  you  noticed,  Mrs.  Aukland,"  said  a 
young  lady,  "  some  thing  very  odd  in  this  pattern, 
beautiful  as  it  is  ?"  She  had  not — what  could  it 
be  ?  "  Something  so  like  a  mouse's  face — the 
tiniest  little  face,  as  if  peeping  from  behind  that 
scarlet  flower!"  "You  saucy  girl!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Aukland,  "  you  really  are  quite  disagreeable  !" 
"  What  do  you  think  Miss  Welwood  says,  Mr. 
Auklaudi"  exclaimed  several  voices;  "she  has 
spied  out  a  mouse's  foce  in  la  belle  Flora  ?"  "  The 
very  same  thing  may  be  seen  in  an  acanthus  leaf 
on  one  of  the  marbles  in  the  British  Museum," 
said  a  young  man  of  the  party,  who  was  a  student 


156  DIFFICULTIES. 

of  the  fine  arts ;  "  and  I  declare,"  added  he,  ex- 
amining the  pattern,  '•'  this  very  leaf  is  copied  from 
it ;  I  know  it  so  well,  for  I  have  copied  it  myself: 
and,  notice  one  thing,  Mr,  Aukland,  if  you  please — 
the  designer  of  this  pattern  has  thrown  that  flower 
over  it  to  correct  the  effect,  or  defect,  if  you  will ; 
but  he  could  not  quite  have  concealed  it  without 
injuring  the  contour  of  the  leaf;  it  has  been  done 
by  a  person  of  fine  taste."  "  Is  it  fair  to  inquire  the 
designer,  Mr.  Aukland  ?"  asked  another  gentleman. 
"  Perfectly,"  replied  Mr  Aukland  ;  "  the  designer  is 
a  Frenchman  of  the  name  of  Du  Roc."  "  Well,  I 
would  swear  to  that  acanthus  leaf  any  where,"  said 
the  student.  The  entrance  of  Master  Augustus  in 
the  full  glory  of  his  embroidered  velvet  diverted  the 
thoughts  of  all  from  la  belle  Flora.  "  Did  Du  Roc 
design  the  elegant  style  of  that  embroidery,  Mrs. 
Aukland  ?"  asked  the  student,  when  he  could  make 
himself  heard  through  the  babble  of  admiring 
tongues.  "  What  a  strange  question,"  said  Mrs. 
Aukland  ;  "  what  could  put  it  in  your  head  ?"  The 
student  could  not  exactly  tell,  but  he  had  fancied 
there  was  a  similar  spirit  in  the  thing.  "  Oh  no, 
replied  Mrs.  Aukland  ;  "  and  yet  it  was  designed  and 
worked  even  by  the  very  person  who  would  fain  usurp 
poor  Du  Roc's  glory  in  that  very  la  belle  Flora !" 
Every   one   was   at   once   interested  and   curious. 


DIFFICULTIES.  157 

"Yes,''  she  said,  "  a  daughter  of  Mrs.  Walsingham's, 

in -Street  :  and,  by  the  bye,  Mrs.  Digby,"  said 

she,  turning  to  an  elerly  lady,  "  I  am  sorry  I  recom- 
mended that  woman  to  you,  for  they  are  all  a  most 
artful,  unprincipled,  impertinent  set  of  people!" 
She  then  gave  an  exaggerated  account  of  Jack's 
championship  for  his  sister  ;  and  then  appealed  to 
her  husband  for  his  further  testimony.  He  gave  it 
with  all  the  artful  coloring  of  Ferrand's  malice,  and 
ended  by  saying  that  all  the  Walsinghams  were 
swindlers. 

There  are  very  few  who  have  not  pleasure  in 
believing  an  evil  report ;  and  most  of  Mrs.  Aukland's 
visiters  went  away,  giving  entire  credit  to  all 
which  had  been  spoken  to  the  disadvantage  of  the 
widow  and  her  family. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  Mrs.  Digby  felt  herself 
compelled,  by  the  remembered  glory  of  the  em- 
broidered velvet  dress,  to  order  one  similar  for  her 
grandson. 

"  But  I  must  have  it  precisely  like  little  Auk- 
lands's,"  said  she,  after  she  had  introduced  the 
subject  to  Mrs.  Walsingham.  "That  is  impos- 
sible," replied  she,  "  as  the  pattern  was  purchased 
by  Mrs.  Aukland,  and  I  am  bound  not  to  work 
another  precisely  the  same."  "  Nonsense,  Mrs. 
Walsingham  !"    said   the  lady,   "  I   must   have   it 


158  A  FRIEND  IN  NEED. 

done !  You  need  not  be  scrupulous  in  disobliging 
Mrs.  Aukland  :"  and  then  she  narrated  all  that  had 
been  said  about  la  belle  Flora  and  her  family  at  the 
evening  party. 

Mrs.  Walsingham  was  shocked  and  astonished, 
but  she  still  persisted  that  she  would  keep  faith  with 
her  employers.  Mrs.  Digby  could  not  understand 
such  punctilious  honor  in  trades-people ;  but,  as 
she  supposed  the  artful  Mrs.  "Walsingham  had  her 
own  interests  to  serve,  and  knew  what  she  was 
about,  she  countermanded  the  order,  and  drove  off, 
intending  to  call  on  Mrs.  Aukland,  and  assure  her 
that  every  word  was  true  which  she  had  spoken 
about  this  designing  haberdasher. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


A  FRIEND    IN  NEED. 


But  we  must  now  return  to  the  time  of  Du  Roc's 
and  Ferrand's  visit  to  Mrs.  Walsingham. 

No  sooner  were  these  two  worthies  gone,  than 
her  first  idea  was  to  take  counsel  with  some  friend 
as  to  the  line  of  conduct  which  it  would  be  best  for 
her  to  pursue :   but  unfortunately  Mr.  Spenser,  the 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED.  159 

friend  who  naturally  occurred  to  her  mind,  had  set 
out  with  all  his  family  for  a  summer  residence  in 
France.  William  was  also  gone  with  them  as  far 
as  Paris,  whence  he  was  to  proceed  to  Leghorn, 
where  he  was  to  reside  for  the  next  twelve  months 
with  Mr.  Spenser's  agent  there.  The  next  best 
thing,  therefore,  seemed  to  be  to  write  to  Mr.  Auk- 
land  himself,  and  to  request  an  interview.  She 
did  so  ;  but  his  answer  was  such  as  Ferrand's  ad- 
vice morally  suggested:  he  treated  her  offer  as  a 
scheme  to  extort  money,  and  defied  her  to  prove 
her  daughter's  claim.  But  how  could  that  claim 
be  proved  ?  Grace  had  her  four  progressive 
sketches,  but  in  themselves  they  contained  no  proof 
of  design  anterior  to  the  printing  of  the  muslin 
itself.  There  were  the  eleven  other  designs  which 
had  accompanied  the  acanthus  :  if  any  of  them  had 
been  printed  they  might  afford  some  clue ;  but,  after 
all  possible  inquiry,  none  of  Mr.  Aukland's  late 
prints  bore  any  resemblance  to  them.  Witnesses 
there  were  none,  for  the  whole  thing  had  been  a 
secret. 

"  There  is  no  one  in  this  wide  world,"  said  Jack, 
one  holiday,  as  he  sat  in  counsel  with  his  mother  and 
sister,  "  that  could  at  all  be  considered  a  witness, 
but  that  old  Quaker  gentleman  with  whom  I  talked 
the  day  1  took  the  designs  to  Ferrand  ;  but  who  he 


160  A  FRIfeNi)  IN  NEED. 

is,  or  whether  he  even  lives  in  London,  I  don't 
tnow." 

"And  the  Quakers,"  said  Grace,  '-are  all  so 
much  alike,  that  if  you  attempt  to  describe  one,  you 
describe  the  whole  sect." 

"  I'd  give  any  thing  to  meet  him  again,"  said 
Jack  ;  "  for  he  said  he  knew  Mr.  Aukland  ;  and  I 
am  sure  he  would  bear  his  testimony  for  us." 

Mr.  Matthew  Wilson  then  presented  himself  to 
Mrs.  Walsingham's  mind  ;  and,  as  Grace  had  de- 
signed several  patterns  for  him,  as  he  had  requested, 
it  was  immediately  determined  that  she  and  Jack 
should  go  there,  and  not  only  take  tliese,  but  dupli- 
cates of  the  eleven  which  had  gone  with  the  acan- 
thus to  Ferrand,  and  the  four  progressive  sketches 
of  the  acanthus  also.  From  him  Mrs.  Walsingham 
thought  she  could  ask  counsel ;  and,  as  he  had 
spoken  of  himself  as  connected  with  calico-printing, 
his  advice  would  be  still  more  valuable. 

Mrs.  Walsingham  and  her  son  were  taken  through 
a  back  part  of  Wells  and  Wilson's  print-factory, 
into  an  inner  court,  where  stood  Mr.  INIatthew  Wil- 
son's house.  The  old  gentlem.an  was  courtesy  itself; 
and  at  the  same  time  that  he  made  himself  very 
merry  at  the  remembrance  of  Jack  confronting  the 
lady,  he  listened  with  the  utmost  interest  to  the  full 
relation  which  Mrs.  Walsingham  gave  him,  declar- 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED.  161 

ing  himself  entirely  convinced  of  the  justice  of  their 
claim.  He  then  sent  for  patterns  of  all  Aukland's 
late  prints,  but  still  no  resemblance  could  be  found 
between  them  and  the  eleven  duplicates.  He  com- 
pared the  finished  drawing  of  the  acanthus-pattern 
with  the  printed  la  belle  Flora,  and  there  was  not  a 
shade  of  difference.  He  next  took  up  the  new  de- 
signs which  Grace  had  sent  for  his  inspection  ;  he 
cursorily  turned  them  over,  very  little  to  Jack's 
satisfaction ;  and,  merely  giving  three  or  four  little 
nods  when  he  had  done,  said  his  brother  must  see 
these,  and  then  turned  to  the  subject  of  more  imme- 
diate importance.  He  said  that  he,  however,  was 
not  the  person  to  take  up  their  cause  with  Mr.  Auk- 
land  :  it  was  his  brother's  partner,  Mr.  Wells,  who 
must  be  enlisted  in  their  service  ;  for  that  Mr.  Auk- 
land  and  he  were  on  very  good  terms. 

A  servant  was  therefore  despatched  with  a  request 
that  Mr.  Wells  would  step  in ;  and  in  ten  minutes' 
time  the  identical  Quaker,  whom  Jack  had  so  long 
looked  for  in  vain,  entered. 

"Thou  and  I  have  met  before,  I  think,"  said 
the  good  man,  eyeing  him  attentively.  Jack, 
overjoyed,  declared  that  they  had,  and  that  their 
meeting  now  was  the  most  fortunate  thing  in  the 
world. 

14 


162  A  FRIEND  IN  NEED. 

The  whole  affair  was  then  related  to  him,  and 
his  friendly  interference  solicited.  Good  Samuel 
Wells  needed  not  to  be  solicited  twice.  He  ex- 
amined the  duplicate  designs  and  the  progressive 
sketches ;  and  then,  requesting  that  every  detail 
might  be  circumstantially  reiterated,  that  he  might 
have  a  clear  idea  of  every  thing,  he  proposed 
that  Jack  should  accompany  him  the  next  morning 
to  Mr.  Aukland's  house,  "where  we  will  catch 
him  at  breakfast,  and  have  him  all  to  ourselves,"  said 
the  good  man. 

Jack  said  to-morrow  was  not  a  holiday,  nor 
even  a  leave-day,  and  that,  therefore,  he  could 
not  go. 

"  We'll  manage  it,"  said  Mr.  Wells  :  "  my  part- 
ner is  friendly  with  some  masters  in  thy  school ;  we 
will  get  thee  liberated,  and  I  will  call  for  thee  at 
eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

He  then  wrote  to  Mr.  Aukland,  stating  the 
purport  of  his  intended  visit,  and  requesting  that, 
at  all  events,  a  patient  hearing  might  be  given 
him.  Mr.  Aukland,  who  had  his  own  private 
motives  for  not  disobliging  the  rich  Quaker,  ac- 
corded the  interview,  making  up  his  mind,  never- 
theless, not  to  be  convinced,  and  amusing  himself 
with  the  thought  that  the  shrewd  old  Quaker  was 
famously  gulled. 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED.  163 

Mrs,  Aukland,  who  had  been  late  the  night  before 
at  a  party,  took  her  breakfast  in  her  chamber  ;  and 
Mr.  Wells  and  his  companion  found  Mr.  Auk- 
land quite  alone.  The  subject  was  introduced, 
and  Mr.  Aukland  advanced  all  Ferrand's  ar- 
guments. 

"  Thou  must  now  oblige  me,"  said  Samuel  Wells, 
"  by  hearing  what  I  have  to  say."  And  he  then 
related  his  first  meeting  with  Jack,  and  all  that  had 
passed  between  them  at  the  time.  "  But  thou  canst 
produce,"  said  he  to  Jack,  "  those  progressive 
sketches  of  thy  sister's  ?" 

Jack  laid  them  proudly  before  Mr.  Aukland. 

"  But,"  said  that  gentleman,  eyeing  them  care- 
lessly, "  these  prove  nothing  :  sketches  of  this  kind 
may  easily  be  made  after  any  print  is  pub- 
lished." 

"  Sir,"  returned  Jack,  feeling  quite  hot  at  the 
imputation,  "  this  sketch  was  made  months  ago. 
I  was  with  her  when  she  did  it  in  the  British 
Museum,  and  this  is  that  very  acanthus  leaf  which 
is  in  the  finished  print,  only  this  is  copied  from  an 
old  marble.  Indeed,  sir,  it  is :  and  here's  the 
something  like  the  mouse's  face  which  is  in  the 
original." 

"  That  is  not  much  to  the  purpose,  my  young 
friend,"  said  Samuel  Wells. 


164  A  FRIEND  IN  NEED. 

"  With  your  permission,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Auk- 
land,  "  it  is :  allow  him  to  finish  what  he  was 
saying." 

"  I  wish  some  body  would  go  with  me  to  the 
British  Museum,"  said  Jack,  "  and  I  would  show 
them  the  very  marble.  Grace  copied  in  the 
mouse's  face,  because  she  said  it  must  be  right ; 
and  then,  because  I  said  I  would  set  a  trap  to  catch 
it,  she  said  she  would  give  it  a  flower  to  run  behind; 
so  she  threw  the  ecrymocarpus  across  the  leaf; 
but  the  little  mouse  peeps  out  still — and  so  it  does 
in  the  printed  muslin." 

"  Very  singular  this  !"  said  Mr.  Aukland  ;  "  but 
this  circumstance  of  the  mouse's  face  has  been 
noticed  before  :  it  was  pointed  out  to  me  by  a  young 
artist ;  and  he  recognized  it  to  be  copied  from  such 
a  leaf  in  the  British  Museum." 

Jack  made  an  exclamaion  of  delight. 

"  Stay,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Aukland,  very  coolly ; 
"this  proves  nothing.  Du  Roc  himself,  to  whom  1 
mentioned  the  circumstance,  allowed  that  he  also 
had  copied  it  from  this  acanthus  leaf." 

"  I  don't  believe  lie  did,  sir,"  said   Jack  earnestly. 

"  It  would  be  worth  thy  while,  friend  Auk- 
land," said  Mr.  Weils,  "  to  take  both  parties  to 
the  Museum,  and  see  if  both  point  out  the  same 
leaf." 


A  FRIEND  IN  NEED.  165 

"  I  will  search  the  matter  to  the  bottom  now,  you 
may  depend  upon  it,"  replied  Mr.  Aukland. 

It  was  accordingly  arranged  that  Mr.  Aukland 
should  take  Du  Roc  to  the  Museum  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  that  Grace  and  her  brother  should  be  there 
also — Mr.  Wells  having  undertaken  that  Jack  should 
have  another  leisure-day  awarded  him  for  so  impor- 
tant a  purpose. 

"But  what  hast  thou  here!"  said  Mr.  Wells, 
as  they  had  risen  to  depart,  putting  his  hand  to- 
wards some  designs  for  prints,  which  lay  on  a  side- 
table. 

"  Designs  for  the  next  season,"  said  Aukland, 
keeping  his  hand  upon  them,  as  if  unwilling 
that  they  should  meet  the  eye  of  a  rival  calico- 
printer. 

"  I  shall  make  no  ungenerous  use  of  them,"  ob- 
served the  Friend. 

Mr.  Aukland  declared  that  he  had  not  the  least 
suspicion,  and  gave  them  into  the  other's  hand. 

"  These,  or  some  of  them  at  least,"  remarked 
Mr.  Wells,  "  will  tend  to  substantiate  this  young 
woman's  claim." 

He  then  proceeded  to  tell  that  eleven  other  de- 
signs had  been  furnished  by  Grace  at. the  same  time 
with  la  belie  Flora  ;  and,  as  he  had  seen  duplicates 
of  them,  he  could  now  recognize  them  again  "  But 
14* 


166  A  FRIEND  IX  NEED. 

thou  canst  better  point  out  thy  sister's  designs," 
said  he,  giving  them  to  Jack. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  this  is  one  ;  and  this,  and 
this  !" 

"  Very  strange,  indeed !"  remarked  Mr,  Aukland, 
who  was  now  beginning  to  let  in  doubts  readily  ; 
"  these  were  all  given  to  me  two  weeks  ago  by  Fer- 
rand,  as  new  designs  by  himself  and  Du  Roc  : — 
they  have  cost  me  a  deal  of  money  !" 

'*  Eight  of  them  are  my  sister's,"  said  Jack. 

"  Thou  wouldpt  like  to  see  those  duplicates  ?" 
observed  Mr.  Wells  ;  "  for  here,  at  least,  can  be  no 
collusion." 

"  Undoubtedly  I  should,"  returned  he. 

"  I  will  send  them  to  thee  to-day,"  he  replied  ; 
"I  have  them  safely  under  lock  and  key:  no  one 
but  Matthew  Wilson  and  myself  have  seen  them." 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  to  Ferrand  or  Du  Roc  of  my 
suspicion  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Aukland  ;  "  I  will  have 
complete  proof  first.'' 

"  Thou  art  quite  right,"  returned  the  other. 


167 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

NEW  CONNEXIONS. 

The  next  morning  Grace  snd  her  brother  were 
puntually  at  the  British  Museum  by  ten  o'clock. 
In  about  half  an  hour  Mr.  Aukland  came,  but  Du 
Roc  was  not  with  him. 

"  This,  sir,"  said  Grace,  pausing  before  the 
fragment  of  a  beautiful  Corinthian  capital,  "  is  the 
marble,  and  this  is  the  very  acanthus  leaf;"  and, 
showing  her  first  sketch  at  the  same  time,  Mr.  Auk- 
land perceived  the  beautiful  accuracy  of  the  draw- 
ing. At  that  moment  the  young  artist  who  had 
recognized  the  leaf  at  Mr.  Aukland's,  and  who 
was  then  copying  an  antique  in  the  Museum, 
came  up. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Aukland,"  said  he  ,  "  you 
are  looking  at  the  acanthus,  I  see — your  belle 
Flora.  Had  I  been  the  designer  of  that  beautiful 
pattern,  I  would  have  called  it  the  acanthus." 

"  So  she  did !"  exclaimed  Jack,  involuntarily ; 
"  that  was  the  very  name  that  Grace  gave  to  this 
pattern  !" 


168  NEW  CONNEXIONS. 

"  It  was  written  on  the  back  of  my  design,  sir," 
said  Grace,  blushing  deeply  ;  "  and,  if  you  will 
be  so  very  good  as  to  look,  you  will  see  it  written 
there." 

"  Unless  it  has  been  scratched  off,"  said  Jack. 

"  I  expect  Du  Roc  every  moment,"  observed  Mr. 
Aukland,  who  was  beginning  to  be  quite  interested 
in  these  young  people.  "  You  have  satisfied  me  so 
far;  walk  on,  if  you  please," 

The  young  student  joined  them,  for  he  imme- 
diately concluded  this  to  be  the  young  person  of 
whom  he  had  heard  so  unfavorable  a  report  at 
Mrs.  Aukland's,  but  whose  appearance  and  manner 
interested  him  deeply.  Jack  told  him,  in  a  few 
words,  the  true  history  of  la  belle  Flora,  and  the 
young  artist  was  more  interested  than  ever. 

"  I  was  sure,"  said  he,  "  that  that  beautiful  em- 
broidery and  la  belle  Flora  were  designed  by  the 
same  hand." 

After  Mr.  Aukland's  patience  was  completely 
exhausted,  Du  Roc  made  his  appearance.  He  had 
the  paper,  which  he  professed  to  be  his  drawing,  in 
his  hand,  as  he  had  been  told  to  bring  it  with  him  ; 
and  he  was  evidently  most  anxiously  prying  about 
for  some  acanthus  which  might  suit  it. 

"This,  perhaps,  is  it,"  said  Mr.  Aukland,  stopping 
before  a  broken  capital,  whose  leaves  bore  no  resem- 
blance whatever  to  it. 


NEW  CONNEXIONS.  169 

"Ah!  yes — the  very  one!"  reph'ed  Du  Roc, 
hoping  that  any  might  do  :  "  your  apprehension  was 
much  quicker  than  mine  ;  this  is  it!" 

"  But  where  is  the  mouse's  face,  of  which  I  hear 
so  much  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Aukland. 

"  Oh,  that  was  one  little  fancy  of  my  own,"  re- 
plied the  Frenchm.an. 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Auldand,  "  artists  tell  me  it  is 
very  conspicuous  in  the  original." 

Du  Roc  protested  that  it  was  there,  and,  with  the 
help  of  fancy,  was  plainly  to  be  seen. 

"That  will  do,"  said  Mr.  Aukland,  now  com- 
pletely convinced ;  "  you  may  go  about  your 
business  !" 

Du  Roc  bowed  low ;  and,  not  suspecting  the  trap 
into  which  he  had  fallen,  adjourned  to  a  tavern  for  a 
day's  carouse. 

Mr.  Aukland  examined  the  back  of  the  paper 
which  Du  Roc  had  left  with  him,  but  no  writing 
appeared  upon  it. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  young  artist,  when  this 
deficiency  was  pointed  out ;  and,  holding  it 
between  his  eye  and  the  light,  a  very  careful 
erasure  with  the  knife  was  discernible,  over 
which  the  words  la  belle  Flora  had  been  coarsely 
written. 


170  NEW  CONNEXIONS. 

Mr.  Aukland  was  a  man  of  strong  impulses,  and 
a  violent  re-action  now  took  place  in  his  feelings. 
He  parted  with  the  brother  and  sister  in  the  most 
cordial  manner,  and  declared  that  ample  justice 
should  be  done  them. 

How  joyful  was  their  return  home,  our  readers 
may  conceive  ;  and  Jack  was  despatched  with  the 
news  of  their  successful  visit  to  the  Museum,  to 
good  Mr.  Wells,  to  whom  they  thought  it  would  give 
great  pleasure. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  thee,  my  young  friend,"  said 
Samuel  Wells,  when  Jack  had  finished  his  relation ; 
"  thou  didst  me  justice  in  supposing  me  interested 
in  your  welfare  ;  and  John  Aukland,  I  told 
thee,  was  an  upright  man  ; — thy  sister  will  find 
herself  in  good  hands.  But  my  partner,"  said 
he,  turning  round,  with  a  bustling  air,  "  wishes 
to  see  thy  sister  on  business.  Bid  friend  Wilson 
step  here,"  said  he  to  a  clerk,  who  was  passing  at 
that  moment. 

Mr.  John  Wilson,  Mr.  Wells's  partner,  appeared: 
he  was  a  much  younger  man  than  either  his  brother 
or  partner,  and  belonged  altogether  to  a  more  modern 
school. 

"  This  is  our  young  friend  Walsingham,"  said 
Samuel  Wells  :  "  he  tells  me  that  they  have  com- 
pletely proved  their  claim  to  the  new  pattern." 


NEW  CONNEXIONS.  171 

"  Aukland  will  rid  himself  of  his  man  Ferrand,  I 
should  think,  now,"  returned  Mr.  John  Wilson. 
Samuel  Wells  thought  also,  that,  without  doubt,  he 
would.  "  But,"  said  he  to  his  partner,  "  thou  hadst 
better  accompany  this  youth  home,  and  arrange  that 
little  business  with  his  sister." 

Jack  .hoped  they  were  not  going  to  return  the 
designs  ;  and,  as  Mr.  John  Wilson  declared  him- 
self ready  to  go  at  that  moment,  he  sounded  him 
by  the  way,  as  to  his  opinion  of  them :  but  Mr. 
John  Wilson  was  a  close  man  of  business,  and  not 
even  Jack  could  extract  the  shadow  of  an  opinion 
from  him. 

It  seemed  a  very  formidable  thing  to  Grace,  to 
be  shut  up  in  a  room  with  this  methodical  man  of 
business,  who  introduced  the  occasion  of  his  call 
with  as  much  precision  as  he  made  his  entries  in  his 
ledger  ;  and  she  proposed,  therefore,  that  her  mother 
should  be  admitted  to  their  conference.  Mr.  John 
Wilson  quite  approved.  He  had  called,  he  said,  to 
purchase  the  twelve  designs  which  had  been  brought 
to  him  the  other  day  ;  but,  in  the  first  place,  he  must 
inquire  if  they  had  been  seen  by,  or  had  been  offered 
to  any  other  house.  They  had  been  seen  by  no  one 
but  themselves  and  her  own  family,  Grace  replied. 
"  They  were  willing,  then,"  said  Mr.  John  Wilson, 
"to  give  fifty  guineas  for  them:  would  that  sum 


172  NEW  COXNEXIONS. 

satisfy  her  {"  "  Yes,  indeed  it  would  !"  replied  poor 
Grace,  to  whom  the  idea  of  possessing  fifty  guineas 
of  her  own,  seemed  incredible.  An  important- 
looking  stamped  paper,  partly  printed,  and  partly 
fdled  up,  was  then  produced,  for  her  to  sign,  which 
consigned  over  all  her  right  and  title  in  those  patterns 
to  the  house  of  Wells  and  Wilson.  Grace  wrote 
her  name  very  tremulously — it  seemed  to  her  alto- 
gether like  a  dream  :  and  when  the  fifty-two  gold 
sovereigns  and  a  half  were  counted  out  before  her, 
the  room  seemed  to  turn  round.  She  had  been  a 
poor  penniless  girl  but  a  day  before  ;  she  had  now 
signed  over  mere  traces  of  her  pen,  which,  like 
actual  houses  and  land,  had  produced  golden  coin  of 
the  realm ! 

Her  mother,  and  Mr.  John  Wilson,  seemed  to  be 
talking  very  amicably,  and  Grace  was  roused  out 
out  of  her  reverie  by  her  mother's  voice.  "  Grace, 
my  love,  Mr.  Wilson  speaks  to  you !"  Grace 
started,  and  apologized. 

"  He  and  his  partner,"  he  said,  "  would  be  ex- 
tremely glad  to  engage  her  as  a  designer  of  patterns 
for  the  next  twelve  months,  at  least."  Grace  looked 
at  her  mother,  as  if  doubtful  of  her  approbation. 
"  Certainly,  my  dear,-'  replied  her  mother,  "  if  you 
would  like  the  occupation."  Grace  then  thanked 
Mr.  John  Wilson,  and  said  she  should  be  most  happy. 


NEW  CONNEXIONS.  173 

Again,  he  had  a  stamped,  printed  paper  in  readiness ; 
and,  supplying  the  blanks  as  he  went  on,  he  read  to 
the  purport,  that  she  engaged  to  furnish,  during  the 
next  twelve  months,  for  the  firm  of  Wells  and  V/ilson, 
original  designs,  solely  and  exclusively  for  their 
use ;  and  for  which  designs  she  should  receive  one 
hundred  and  fifty  guineas  :  that  during  the  term  of 
her  engagement  with  them,  she  should  not  furnish 
any  design,  or  designs  whatsoever,  to  any  other 
similar  house,  nor  suffer  any  of  her  designs  to  be 
seen  by  them. 

Mrs.  Walsingham  said,  their  restrictions  were 
perfectly  reasonable,  and  she  was  sure  her  daughter 
Avould  be  satisfied  with  the  terms.  Grace  also  ex- 
pressed her  thanks.  "  We  may  then  fill  up  this 
agreement,"  said  Mr.  John  Wilson  ;  and  while  he 
was  so  doing,  the  mother  and  daughter  exchanged 
glances  perfectly  intelligible,  though  poor  Grace's 
eyes  were  glistening  with  tears. 

"  We  shall  need  two  witnesses,"  said  Mr.  John 
Wilson ;  and  the  very  formality  of  all  this  repelled 
Grace's  emotion,  and  she  again  wondered  to  find 
herself  a  person  of  so  much  importance. 

No  sooner  was  Mr.  John  Wilson  out  of  the  house, 
than  Jack's  anns  were  round  Grace's  neck,  and  he 
was  kissing  her  cheeks  and  forehead  ;    for  he  saw 
15 


174  NEW  CONNEXIONS, 

the  gold  which  lay  on  the  table,  and  his  delight  #^s 
too  great  to  satisfy  itself  in  mere  words. 

"I  shall  just  finish  that  set  of  handkerchiefs 
for  Mrs.  Spenser,"  said  Grace,  afier  the  first  flush 
of  their  happy  talk  was  over,  "  and  then,  dearest 
mother,  you  must  excuse  me  doing  any  more  fine 
work." 

"  My  dear  girl,"  replied  her  mother,  "  why  should 
you?" 

"  How  kind  you  are,"  was  Grace's  reply ;  and 
then  Jack  began  to  tell  how  Grace,  for  all  these 
years,  had  done  that  sort  of  work  without  com- 
plaining, although  it  was  so  hateful  to  her  ;  and 
how  she  v;oi;]d  like,  of  all  things,  to  be  an  en- 
graver ;  and  what  schemes  they  two  had  had 
together,  but  how  Grace  had  determined  never  to 
desert  her  mother  till  she  could  obtain  more  money 
some  other  way. 

"  The  Almighty  has  blessed  you,  my  dear  children," 
said  Mrs.  Walsingham,  deeply  moved  ;  and,  kissing 
them  both,  she  thanked  God  for  having  given  her  his 
choicest  blessings  of  life,  even  in  the  midst  of  poverty 
— virtuous  children. 

Jack  returned  to  his  school,  and  Grace  sat  down 
to  write  a  long  letter  to  her  brother  and  sister,  which 
she  hoped  might  reach  them  before  William  left 
Paris.     "While  she  was  in  the  very  middle  of  it,  Mr. 


NEW  CONNEXIONS.  175 

Aukland  was  announced.  What  a  cheerful,  cordial 
man  he  then  seemed !  He  shook  hands  with  Grace 
and  her  mother,  and,  as  if  he  had  been  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, sat  down  in  a  jfireside  chair.  He  had 
not  dismissed  Ferrand,  he  said,  for  he  was  reserv- 
ing that  till  he  had  confronted  him  on  the  morrow 
with  Du  Roc  ;  but  he  had  discovered  one  or  two 
facts  since  morning,  that  had  further  convinced  him 
of  his  utterly  base  character.  Mrs.  Aukland,  how- 
ever, was  so  wrapped  up  in  Ferrand's  wife,  who  had 
been  her  maid,  that  he  should  have  some  trouble  to 
get  rid  of  them  ;  but  at  this  moment,  he  said,  he  was 
come  to  make  what  reparation  lay  in  his  power. 
He  had  paid,  he  said,  already  largely  for  la  belle 
Flora,  but  that  was  no  reason  why  the  real  author 
should  go  unrewarded — he  would  ofier  her  ffty 
pounds.  Grace  started,  and  even  Mrs.  Walsinghani 
said  it  was  a  large  sum.  Mr.  Aukland  had  his  purse 
in  his  hand,  when  Grace,  springing  up,  exclaimed, 
"  No,  Mr.  Aukland,  I  will  not  receive  the  money. 
It  is  enough  for  me  that  my  favorite  design  has  been 
successful,  and  that  you  acknowledge  my  right  to  it. 
The  very  charm  of  that  pattern  would  be  gone,  sir, 
if  I  received  its  price  in  money !" 

"  But,  my  dear  young  lady,"  argued  Mr.   Auk- 
land, "  this   money  you  must  receive   as   payment 


176  NEW  CONNEXIONS. 

for  the  eleven  other  designs — all  of  which  I  now 
possess." 

"  Sir,"  said  Grace,  "it  is  quite  too  much.  It  will 
be  the  second  fifty  I  have  received  to-day." 

"  Indeed  !"  returned  Mr.  Aukland,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  surprise. 

"  I  received  fifty,"  continued  Grace,  "  from  Mr. 
John  Wilson." 

"  What !"  said  Mr.  Aukland,  "  have  you  engaged 
yourself  to  him  ?" 

"  I  have,  sir,"  replied  Grace,  "  for  the  next  twelve 
months." 

Mr.  Aukland  struck  his  fist  upon  the  table,  and 
looked  very  much  disappointed.  "  That  old  Quaker," 
said  he,  "  is  more  than  a  match  for  us  all ! — well,  I 
really  am  vexed ;  I  thought  to  have  made  sure  of 
you !" 

Grace  found  all  at  once  that  she  was  become  a 
very  important  person  ;  and  she  could  not  help 
wondering  what  would  happen  next. 

The  next  event  which  occurred,  was  the  arrival 
of  a  spendid  gold  bracelet,  beautifully  worked  in  the 
style  of  the  acanthus  pattern  ;  of  which,  in  a  most 
friendly  note,  Mr.  Aukland  begged  her  acceptance. 
Du  Roc,  he  added,  in  a  postscript,  had  left  the 
country,  and  Ferrand  had  confessed  all;  but  he  had 
not  yet  been  dismissed  entirely  from  his  service, 
because  Ferrand's  wife  had  friends  at  court. 


177 


CONCLUSION. 

Let  us  now  pass  over  upwards  of  twelve  months, 
and  look  in  upon  the  Walsingham  family  on  the 
evening  of  Christmas  day. 

Grace  had  fulfilled  her  engagement  with  Wells 
and  Wilson  so  much  to  their  satisfaction — so  much, 
indeed,  to  the  advantage  of  their  yearly  balance- 
sheet — that  they  offered  her  her  own  terms  for  a 
second  twelve  month's  engagement.  But  the  desire 
of  her  heart  was  now  to  be  accomplished;  and,  with 
the  advice  of  the  friendly  young  artist  who  had  met 
them  in  the  British  Museum,  and  who  ever  since  had 
been  a  welcome  visiter  at  their  fireside,  she  had 
devoted  herself  to  engraving,  with  every  prospect  of 
success.  Jack,  who  was  now  just  fifteen,  had  left 
the  Blue-coat  School,  and  was  Svefang  man's  apparel 
— a  very  goodly  and  pleasant-countenanced  youth  ; 
and  William,  too,  who  had  but  lately  returned  from 
his  travels,  had  shot  up,  at  once,  into  a  ni?ai.  Mary 
and  Margaret  also,  were  both  spenJirg  their  holi- 
days at  home. 

In  all  the  wide,  rich  world  of  London,  there  was 
no  more  happy  Christmas  fireside  than  that  of  good 
Mrs.  Walsingham ! 


178  CONCLUSION. 

"  What  an  old  fellow  I  must  be,"  said  Jack,  "  if  a 
man's  age  is  to  be  reckoned  by  what  he  can  remem- 
ber !  I  can  remember  many  strange  things  in  my 
days.  I  can  remember,  mother,  when  you  first  came 
here,  and  I  spent  my  first  holiday  at  h9i?ie— you 
were  very  low-spirited  then  !" 

"  God  has  wonderfully  blessed  me !"  said  his 
mother. 

"And  I  can  remember  your  great  misfortune, 
Maggie,"  said  he,  "  when  you  broke  the  wax-doll ; 
and  I  can  remember  teaching  you  English  Gram- 
mar, William  ;  and  Mary,  I  remember  ypur  first 
silk  frock  ;  and,  Mistress  Grace,"  said  he,  with  the 
most  arch  smile  in  the  world,  "  what  can't  I  remem- 
ber about  you  ! — all  the  bags,  and  purses,  ^nd  babies' 
caps,  and  embroidered  hstndkerchiefs,  and  satin- 
stitch  collars  that  I  have  seen  you  do." 

"  I  can  bear  to  hear  of  it,"  said  Grace,  smiling. 

"  And  then,  I  can  remember  your  saying,"  con- 
tinued Jack,  "  or  some  body  told  me  that  you  said, 
you  were  to  be  the  only  useless  member  of  the  family  ! 
Bless  me,  what  wonderful  things  one  lives  to  see.  I 
can  remember  thinking,  too,  that  1  should  be  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  or  my  Lord  Chancellor,  pr 
some  thing  very  grand  ;  but  by  living  to  my  lime  of 
life,  I've  seen  things  change  a  good  (Jeal.  You, 
mother,    are    becoming    a    tolerably   rich    woman ; 


CONCLUSION.  179 

Maggie  will  be  the  lady  of  the  family  ;  William 
has  been  in  foreign  parts,  and  may  die  a  great 
merchant ;  Mary  is  a  travelled  lady,  too,  with  dozens 
of  silk  gowns,  for  any  thing  I  know;  and  dear  little 
Grace,  here,  will  beat  Angelica  Kauffman,  and 
Artemisia  Gentilescki  hollow,  with  money  only  for 
the  asking  ;  while  I,  your  very  obedient  servant, 
instead  of  being  either  a  Right  Reverend  Bishop, 
or  his  Lordship  of  the  woolsack,  must  e'en  take 
to  shop-keeping,  dear  mother,  and  help  you  ;  and 
really,"  said  he,  in  his  own  heartsome  voice,  "  when 
my  hair  is  grown,  I  shall  be  a  very  decent  fellow 
behind  a  counter  !     What  say  you  all  ?" 

Every  eye  was  turned  on  Jack  with  the  most 
beaming  affection,  but  he  did  not  get  many  words 
in  reply. 


THE  END. 


UCSB    LIBRARY 


THE  LffiRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST jP^T 
STAMPED  BELOW.     "  '  ' 


skm^. 


E*>  LOANS 
fc^FORNIA 
rZk  93106 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


B     000  014  604    3 


?m 


University  c 
Southern 
Library 


